


the sacrifice of hiding in a lie

by VeloxVoid



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Cage Fights, Dimilix Big Bang (Fire Emblem), Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, M/M, Mild Blood, Pining Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Slow Burn, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Underground Fighter Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26862520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeloxVoid/pseuds/VeloxVoid
Summary: The one time Dimitri ever breaks the law, visiting an underground fighting ring, he is dragged against his will into the dangers of its world. Down there, he meets Felix.The man is nothing but trouble, and yet Dimitri can’t pull himself away. He’s familiar, but at the same time a stranger. A fighter, yet somehow gentle. Dimitri falls for him, but Felix’s affection comes at a price.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, dimilix - Relationship
Comments: 73
Kudos: 75
Collections: Dimilix Big Bang





	1. I. it starts with one

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to VeloxVoid's entry for the Dimilix Big Bang! 
> 
> I'd like to thank my amazing artists [@gaarasslave](https://twitter.com/gaarasslave) and [@_lazulila](https://twitter.com/_lazulila) for making three incredible pieces of art for this story, as well as for the beta!
> 
> I'm [@VeloxVoid](https://twitter.com/VeloxVoid) on Twitter if anyone would like to follow me on there!

"Come on!" Sylvain pat Dimitri's back hard, causing a hollow noise to resonate through the taller man's chest. "Aren't you excited?"

"No," Dimitri sighed at Sylvain's side, trudging along the dank slippery path that he was being led down.

"Don't be such a spoil-sport, Dima, I promise it'll be fine." 

"But, what if it isn't!? This is—!" With an incredulous look, Dimitri gave a cursory glance around himself, as though there might be anybody else in the dismal alleyway with them. "This is _illegal!_ " he whispered.

Sylvain scoffed. "Hardly! Look, everybody involved wants to do it, it's just for a bit of fun, and, hey! Everything's a bit more thrilling if it's not quite legal, isn’t it!?"

Dimitri wasn’t quite sure he agreed with that last part. “What if we get caught? What if the police find out—?"

"It's down an alleyway in the middle of nowhere for a reason." Sylvain stopped walking and held Dimitri's shoulders in a soothing grip. "No one's gonna know. C'mon."

Dimitri let his head loll backwards. His eyes found the night sky above them, glowing from between the cracks in the surrounding roofs, discoloured a deep indigo from the light pollution of the city.

What was he _doing?_ Why had he agreed to it? Sylvain had always been full of crazy ideas and questionable sources of fun, but this was like nothing else.

"A fight!" the redhead had told Dimitri excitedly a few hours ago. "I go to them all the time. They're so fun, trust me!"

Dimitri could see the fun in a fight. He'd always been a fan of sports: boxing, martial arts, even dabbling in fencing from time to time. When Sylvain had proposed going to watch a fight, he'd imagined something along those lines. A grand event, perhaps in an arena — perhaps even televised — with stewards and commentators and an excitable audience.

Alas, once Sylvain had led Dimitri down a miserable alleyway on the outskirts of the city of Garreg Mach, passing by shattered glass and shady-looking characters, Dimitri's heart had sunk. This was not going to be an official fight. This was going to be something underground.

And it was going to be like nothing he'd ever experienced. Granted, Sylvain had also come from a wealthy family, but Dimitri had always had to uphold the high standards he'd set himself. He'd worked hard, gotten into the prestigious Garreg Mach University, earned himself excellent grades, and had never once been in trouble in his life.

This could put a pin in his track record.

"Okay?" Sylvain smiled at him. "I've done this loads of times before. It'll be fine, you prude."

"That's not what prude means—“ His words were cut off as Sylvain took a few steps backwards and nonchalantly knocked upon a rusted metal door. A door that blended so well into the wall of the building, being a dark, murky colour beneath the dim light of the evening, Dimitri had hardly noticed it. He could understand why the authorities had yet to sniff it out; it was nestled between a pile of black refuse bags and a dumpster, drawing no attention to itself whatsoever.

The door opened slightly, allowing a sliver of flaxen light to shine out from within. Dark eyes peered out at the two students before the door was pulled open and a grizzled man showed himself. 

"Gautier," he growled with a smile, "glad you could make it."

"Glad to be here!" Sylvain gave a wink and beckoned Dimitri over. "I brought my friend. It's his first."

Dimitri felt a chill prickle his skin as the gnarled face looked him up and down. The man held out a palm, was handed a wad of money by Sylvain, and nodded. Only then did he step aside. "Enjoy."

Sylvain's wicked smile turned to Dimitri and he gestured into the building with his head. The two ducked through the low doorway to be immediately faced with a set of bland cement steps, besmirched with odd stains, leading downwards. This really _was_ an underground fight.

Dimitri followed Sylvain, descending the steps that led to a corridor, the low ceiling of which held a few dingy yellow light bulbs. The deeper they plunged into the building, the more noise met their ears. The sounds of a crowd: cheering, whooping, cat-calling, and whistling.

What _was_ this? Dimitri's mind began to whir. _Oh, no. No._ This wasn't one of Sylvain's Goddess-awful ideas of a fight, was it? Sickeningly staged wrestling between scantily-clad women, with hoards of randy men as the audience?

"S _ylvain_ ," hissed Dimitri as they reached the bottom of the stairs, walking down another grimy corridor towards the source of the noise. "What _is_ this?"

"Welcome to the Training Grounds!" Sylvain smiled at him as the shouts became louder. "I already told you, this is a fight!"

"What kind of fight!?"

Sylvain shrugged, pointing to an open set of double-doors at the end of the corridor, countless bodies pressed against it. "It's just… a fight!"

Dimitri's heart sank to his stomach. He _knew_ he shouldn't have agreed to this. As he and Sylvain passed another bouncer — this one with muscles threatening to bulge from beneath a dirty grey t-shirt — Dimitri silently pleaded that this wouldn't be an over-sexualised oily wrestling match.

It wasn't. The two men squashed through the doors; Dimitri was thankful for his height — able to see above the heads in front of him — while Sylvain stood on his tiptoes to peer into the ring in the centre of the room. 

‘Ring’ was a loose definition for the thing. A huge cage sat pride of place, with sturdy metal bars keeping the fighters inside. It must have been ten feet tall and twice as wide, as two fighters ran around inside of it, trying to escape the other's swings.

The crowd roared as, eventually, the smaller of the two swung a fist hard into the face of the other, knocking him out cold at once. Dimitri watched with horror as two muscled men swooped into the cage and began dragging him out by the arms.

The victor turned to face the crowd, showing her face as an olive-skinned woman. Startlingly ginger hair had been tied back from her face, the ponytail just reaching her jaw — slightly swollen from a hit she'd just taken. The crowd went wild, cheering and wolf-whistling at her. The manners of these men set Dimitri’s stomach to churning, but the woman seemed not to mind as she took mockingly-gracious bows. 

"Miss Pinelli, the Blade Breaker!" called a commentator over the speakers. "So, she can win against our very own Fright of Fhirdiad, but can she win against our champion? Our undefeated hero?" The crowd grew even more agitated, some of them howling while others gave boos and hisses. "Can she win against--? Oh, he doesn't need an introduction! Let's hear it for Mr. Fraldarius!" 

"Oh, fuck yes!" cheered Sylvain, joining in with the vigour of the audience. "Oh, Dima, this guy's _so_ good!"

Dimitri's brow furrowed. "He is?" Yet, just as a figure stepped into the cage, two men beside Sylvain began to jostle, getting into a fight and drawing Dimitri's attention from the centre of the room. They lunged for each other, shoving Sylvain into Dimitri, who in turn fell into the man next to him.

"Watch it!" someone from the crowd yelled at him.

"Sorry—!" he choked back, before bouncers grabbed the two fighting men and hauled them back through the door.

When finally Dimitri could look back into the ring, the match had already begun. The crowd were egging on their favourites, and an unintelligible chant was working its way through the cheers. Dimitri couldn’t work out what they were saying, but presumably it was the name of their reigning champion. 

When at last Dimitri could see this mysterious 'undefeated hero', his breath was taken away.

The man looked so serious, face stony and jaw hard with concentration. He moved silently, drifting through the ring like a shadow as he took soft, light footsteps. He dodged each swing, reflexes phenomenal, darting out of reach and ducking at all the right moments. When the time was right, he struck. Wearing out _the Blade Breaker,_ he waited for a lull in her blows — a moment she took to breathe — and his hand would shoot out in a quick, deft punch.

His hands were bare except for ragged bandages. Dusty-coloured wrappings enveloped his knuckles, flecked with brown from old, dried blood and with scarlet from the stream he'd just made erupt from the woman's nose. He was quick, sure-footed, and he moved with such an ease and confidence that he made the fight look easy.

It was his eyes that struck Dimitri the most. Even from his distance, in the back of the audience, he could see the gleaming amber that glowed out fiercely from beneath the dark purple shadows of his brow bone. So perfectly did they stand out against his ivory skin, like the sun breaking through clouds. They complemented his hair — long, and tied into a ponytail, such a dark, inky black colour that it reflected blue beneath the flaxen lights.

Dimitri felt his breath catch in his chest at the mere sight of him. Unable to restrain himself, he grabbed Sylvain's wrist at his side, causing the man to whip his head around.

"What's up?" Sylvain called over the cheers around him.

Dimitri's words sounded almost choked. "Who… who is that?" 

"The champion?" Sylvain smirked. "They call him the Meandering Sword. I dunno why, since he doesn't use a sword… and he doesn't meander… but, eh."

"He's beautiful…" Dimitri muttered.

"What?" Sylvain bellowed over the crowd. "Can't hear you!" But his attention was snapped away from Dimitri as the crowd made one unanimous noise: " _ooh!_ "

Inside the ring, the red-headed woman lay still as a corpse upon the stone floor. The Meandering Sword panted over her and took a few paces back, stunning eyes fixed on her body. Silence seemed to flatten the crowd for a few seconds as blood trickled from beneath her head, but then an utter uproar began. Screams, cheers, wild whistling, and the chanting of the two words that Dimitri could now work out: "Meandering Sword! Meandering Sword!"

Dimitri stood unmoving as the crowd hustled around him, tossing him side to side, sending him bumping into Sylvain's bony shoulders. He was in way over his head. He shouldn't have been here, doing something so dangerous, watching people potentially die—

But as the referee grabbed the Sword's arm, thrusting it in the air as the commentator cooed yet again over their undefeated hero, his fascinating eyes found Dimitri's in the crowd. The pools of amber stared him down with an expression that looked almost challenging, sending a shudder down Dimitri’s spine.

What was this feeling? It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Many a time, throughout school and his years at university, Dimitri had felt somewhat… inexperienced. Sylvain always bragged about his latest 'pulls'; Annette had found her soulmate in Mercedes; even Dedue had a mysterious love-life that he never wanted to speak about. Dimitri had barely even had as much as a first kiss — and even then it had only been with Ingrid at a house party during Spin the Bottle.

 _No_ , this feeling was like nothing else. A tingling in his chest, working its way down into his stomach where it fizzled in a sensation like butterflies. This could only be described as…

 _Attraction_.

As the commentator spilled compliments, and the men around Dimitri began to exchange betting money, he watched as the Sword was pulled from the ring by yet more bouncers. Yet, as the man walked, he didn’t take his gaze away from Dimitri's. Only when the Meandering Sword was whisked behind a set of doors and out of view did Dimitri come up for breath, suddenly aware of Sylvain shaking his arm.

"Hey! Dima! You okay in there?" he asked.

"Hm?" Dimitri fought to take in the face before him, struggling to focus on the light brown eyes, the red hair falling into them. "Yeah, thanks. I'm fine."

"How did you like that!? The next round is coming up, but this one is _women only!_ They're _wrestlers!_ "

 _Oh, no,_ Dimitri groaned internally. He should have trusted his gut — should have known better than to take Sylvain's word. "Is _this_ what you brought me here for?"

"Look, I'm just trying to help! You've never shown interest in anybody! I thought if I could… you know… pique your interest…?" Sylvain raised his eyebrows.

Dimitri shook his head, physically resisting burying his face in his palms. "I'm not going to sit through this."

Sylvain laughed. "Okay, _now_ you're being a prude!"

"I'm going to... take a walk," Dimitri said, already beginning to slip his way back through the crowd.

"Fine," Sylvain sighed back at him. "Don't go too far! I'll come find you after this fight!" 

Dimitri nodded and squeezed through the doors, past the bulging muscles of the men standing guard. The corridor beyond was much cooler, and not being pressed against the sweaty bodies of strangers was immediately relieving.

Alone with his thoughts, the ring full of cheering and guffawing far behind him, Dimitri found himself wandering through the empty hall. Around a corner lay yet another corridor lined with closed doors. Dimitri wondered what in Fódlan this building could have been. Offices, once upon a time? Dormitories? He failed to see why those would be underground. Perhaps the place had been built specifically for the purpose of an illegal fighting ring.

More so, however, his thoughts trailed back to the fighter. The Sword — the commentator had said something like... Fraldarius...? That was an interesting coincidence — the surname of his father’s friend Rodrigue and his son Glenn. Glenn had been a ruffian in their youth when he’d known him. Dimitri wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d ended up in a fighting ring somehow — but the man in the ring had not been Glenn. The Meandering Sword had such a graceful, lithe flow to his body, like nothing he’d ever seen before. A perfect body — one he could watch for hours on end…

Dimitri realised that his cheeks were beginning to burn. Panicked, he brought a hand up to hold one of them and felt the skin beneath hot to the touch. That panicked him even more. Dimitri had been known to blush brightly whenever he was embarrassed, or somehow compromised. Imagining the fighter and the purely stunning way in which he'd moved…

His face began to burn even more.

He let out an anxious little noise and fanned his face with his hands, desperately attempting to cool himself off. This was _not_ the place to be getting hot under the collar. In the middle of a stinking, sweaty, mysteriously-stained fighting ring? He could have slapped himself, but a noise from further down the corridor snapped him back to life.

"No, leave me alone," a disgruntled voice said. "I'll be fine!"

"But, Leonie, you—"

"I don't _care_ if I'm concussed! I can deal with it myself!"

Dimitri's head snapped around to the end of the corridor, to where a woman was closing one of the doors behind her. A woman he recognised; with flaming red hair that now sat in a loose ponytail over her shoulder, it was none other than the woman who had just been beaten by the Meandering Sword.

In a moment of childishness, Dimitri's heart leapt. This woman was almost a celebrity — had had fans calling after her in the ring, and had been the centre of the fight. He heard another voice calling from the room she'd just left, but the words became lost as he gazed upon her.

"Oh, shut up, you bastard!" she shouted back with a laugh, striding down the corridor with confidence despite her swollen eye and jaw. When she passed Dimitri, she glanced at him for a moment, giving him a wink with her non-swollen eye. 

Dimitri gave an anxious little wave, his heart pounding faster. He could have kicked himself — his immaturity tonight had been unforgivable. Acting like a child in the presence of a celebrity... No. He needed to be calm, compose himself, and to think of how to fill the time before Sylvain would return to him.

When the woman had passed, however, and Dimitri took a look back to the door she’d just left, he almost gave a squeak.

_How can one man be so beautiful?_

The dim yellow lights shone down upon the Meandering Sword like the sun breaking from the heavens above. The lithe, athletic young man known as Fraldarius sidled out of the doorway, taking a drink from a bottle of water.

 _Lady Sothis,_ Dimitri almost muttered. The man was somehow even more stunning up close. He felt his blush return tenfold, his eyes widening, and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the man who had begun walking towards him. Ethereal: pale skin glowing almost white beneath the dingy lights, his eye sockets, cheekbones, and jaw all hollowed in a near-purple shadow, his hair restyled into a messy bun at the back of his head...

As he approached, those golden eyes looked up, and settled hard upon Dimitri’s face. He stopped in his tracks.

_"You."_

The blonde man's lips parted, but no words came out as he looked down upon the fighter. The fighter who, now that Dimitri stood mere inches away from him, was so much shorter than him.

The Sword's sharp, handsome eyebrows furrowed over his monolid eyes, and his lips curled in something that was a mixture between a snarl and a frown. "Meet me up top."

 _What?_ Dimitri could do nothing but blink dumbfoundedly in return. He looked over both of his shoulders, but all that stood behind him was a wall. “M… Me?” he stuttered.

“Who else?” The other man spat. And as he walked away, disappearing around the corner, Dimitri did not know whether he was elated or frightened.

The Sword had _spoken_ to him. Had asked to meet with him! The prospect sent Dimitri’s heart pounding so hard he had to press a palm to it. But he hadn’t exactly seemed happy about his proposal. He had scowled, and growled, and walked away.

Nevertheless, Dimitri supposed he had no choice. He gave Fraldarius enough time to walk out of the building and tried to compose himself once more.

He breathed deeply, but the image of that sharp, handsome face was burnt into the underside of his eyelids, shooting butterflies through his stomach every time he tried to calm down.

It was no use. Dimitri allowed himself to giggle slightly, and began to head back through the building, to the front door he’d entered through.


	2. II. and now you've become a part of me

The crisp bite of the city air felt refreshing against Dimitri’s face. Garreg Mach’s streets may have smelled of the dense smog that constantly permeated the atmosphere, but it was better than the thick scent of sweat that had assaulted him below-ground. Even the industrial fumes were welcomed over old men’s body odour.

He heard the fighting pit’s door close behind him — heard the slab of metal clang and echo throughout the alleyway — and looked around himself.

“You were quick.” The voice made him jump a mile, and Dimitri turned to find the Meandering Sword beside him, taking a drag of a lit cigarette.

Yet again, he was completely lost for words. Only now did he allow himself a better look at the man; despite the sky’s low twilight haze casting a dim lustre across everything in view, the orange street lamps all around them lit the Sword in the colours of sunset.

He wore a black leather jacket that had countless metal studs lining it, each reflecting the light and seeming to make him glow. His legs were clad not in the tight black shorts he'd worn in the ring, but instead in tight black jeans, with leather boots reaching up to his knees.

Even his fashion sense was alluring.

"Staring at me in the ring, and staring at me now..." Dimitri was startled as the man's drawling voice sounded once more. "What's your problem?" The more he spoke, the harder his tone grew — suspicion became etched onto his face. 

"P-Problem?" Dimitri managed.

The Sword took another long drag upon his cigarette and let the plumes tumble from his lips in an exhale. Even such a disgusting habit looked attractive on him. "Yeah." And he tapped ash from its tip. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Do you… know me?" Dimitri repeated, beginning to think. He did know people by the name Fraldarius, but this man was not Glenn. "I don't think so.”

"Are you sure? Who are you?" The eyes that were narrowed at him seemed more accusatory by the second.

"Assuredly we don't know each other. Unless, perhaps, you attend Garreg Mach University?"

The Meandering Sword's lip curled with distaste. "I don’t."

"Then I don't think we're acquainted." Dimitri smiled. This was going well, he thought. Considering the situation had seemed a little threatening at first, he felt he'd rescued himself a little. He was being polite, and for once not fumbling over his words; this was a first.

"What's your name?" asked the Sword.

“I'm Dimitri. And you?"

If it was possible for the Sword to grow paler, he surely would have. His eyes widened and his slim lips parted. He didn’t respond as he stared dead into Dimitri’s eyes.

Perturbed, he spoke up. "Are… you okay?"

The scowl returned to the Sword’s handsome face. "What? I'm fine. I just…" And he looked away. "I don’t like that name."

_ Oh _ . How very nice. Perhaps this man was not as charming as he appeared at first glance. Dimitri cocked his head either way. “Your name is Fraldarius?”

If a stare could call Dimitri a ‘stupid fool’, the one he was given would have. “That’s my surname.”

“Well, might I know your first name…?” Dimitri smiled shyly. “After all, you know mine.”

Narrowed eyes considered him for a moment. Beneath the street lamps, they looked fiery — a golden colour that danced with flames. And they seemed to smile; while the man’s lips remained straight, curling around the cigarette to breathe in its smoke. His eyes gave the most judgmental, scheming of grins. When at last he spoke, the smoke from his mouth caught upon the breeze to hit Dimitri’s face.

“No,” he purred. Before Dimitri could question his response, however, the Meandering Sword turned around and threw the cigarette butt towards a puddle. “I just wanted to know why you were staring at me. Have a nice life.”

The shadows of the alleyway swallowed him up, leaving Dimitri to almost believe he’d melted into them. Taking a few steps in the same direction, he tried desperately to look after him, his mind reeling. To no avail; Fraldarius was gone.

But _ why _ did he seem so familiar…?

“There you are!”

Dimitri had been deaf to the fighting pit’s door opening, but as Sylvain clapped his shoulders while hollering into his ears, he jumped a mile. He turned, seeing his friend’s smiling face. “Don’t run off like that! I thought you’d been kidnapped, or beaten up or something!”

“I might as well have been.” He continued to gaze in the direction Fraldarius had left, as if hoping to see him once more. The conversation truly had felt like one big punch in the gut, but instead of leaving Dimitri a bruised, pained mess, it had lit a curiosity inside of him. It tasted sweet upon his tongue; he found himself wanting  _ more _ . “So mysterious….”

_ “What _ are you talking about?” Sylvain asked. He followed Dimitri’s gaze, only to be met with nothing but the black and empty alleyway. “Have you seen something?”

Dimitri’s lips parted, but he stopped himself from speaking. If he told Sylvain who he had spoken to — and had had such a strange conversation with — would he even believe him?

“Shame the Meandering Sword was only in one fight.” Sylvain shrugged, as if reading Dimitri’s mind. “He’s really good when you see him truly in action.”

“Truly in action?” Dimitri asked, turning to face Sylvain fully. “What does  _ that _ mean?”

And Sylvain’s face became dark, wearing the same grin he wore when telling Ashe ghost stories. “He becomes someone else.”

Fingers of ice ran up Dimitri’s spine.

“It’s like his eyes glaze over and he goes feral, or something. He can get really brutal. I once saw him knock out a guy at least three times his size, so hard the guy had to be dragged away, bleeding like crazy. Not to scare you or anything, but… we’ve never seen that fighter since.”

It was as if the chill of the night finally managed to break through the balmy heat, creeping beneath Dimitri’s jacket to bury under his skin. He shivered, his bones cold. The Meandering Sword was mysterious enough as it was; knowing now that he had a wild side — perhaps even a killing streak — made him almost terrifying.

Dimitri had never felt so exhilarated. His jaw chattered and goosebumps prickled his skin, his heart pounding with excitement. He couldn’t explain the feeling alight inside of him, but he  _ liked _ it.

“I… I liked him,” he said clumsily. “I think I’d like to watch him win again.”  _ I’d like to get to know him. _

“Yeah?” Sylvain grinned at that, and wrapped an arm around Dimitri’s shoulder. He turned them both around, and began to walk them from the alleyway. “Why don’t you bet on him, then? He almost  _ always _ wins.”

Dimitri was not interested in that. He wanted the man, not the money.

Once they’d returned back to their university dormitory, the familiar scent of home hitting Dimitri’s nostrils and sounds of drunken students filling his ears, he relaxed a little. He opened the door to his and Sylvain’s bedroom, crossed to his bed, and sat.

He shrugged off his jacket, his nose catching the scent of alcohol upon it from where somebody at the Training Grounds had inevitably spilled their beverage over him, and began to unlace his shoes. Only one thought danced around his mind.

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain sat on his own bed, opposite Dimitri’s. He batted his red eyelashes at him jokingly. “Why,  _ yes _ , Dimitri?”

“I’d like to come to the next fight.”

“You would!?” Sylvain beamed. “But you only stayed for one match!”

“It was enough.” Dimitri thought fondly of the Meandering Sword. His beautiful lithe form and deft movements, his thick, sleek hair flowing like ribbons of midnight behind him, his cocky, biting remarks beneath his drawling voice.

Dimitri wanted nothing more than to get to know him. But… how? How could he even  _ begin _ to befriend this mysterious man? His first encounter with him had been nothing more than a fluke — he’d simply been in the right place at the right time. He needed to strategise.

No, perhaps ‘strategise’ wasn’t the best word for it. He wanted to get to  _ know _ the Meandering Sword, for Sothis’ sake, not capture him. He supposed he would need to start with visiting the Training Grounds again.

“So,” he addressed Sylvain, “when’s the next fight?”

And a delighted smirk overcame the redhead’s cunning face. “Saturday.”


	3. III. i wanna find something i’ve wanted all along

Dimitri had not missed the hot, thick stench of bodily fluids that seemed to hang in the Training Grounds’ air like a swollen raincloud. His nose curled each time it hit his nostrils; sweat, the metallic tang of dried blood, and the sour breath of drunken men mingled together and made for a disgusting scent — one that almost made him regret his decision.

_Almost._

“It’s nice being at the front this time, isn’t it?” Sylvain approached him, drink in hand. “You didn’t want one, did you?”

Dimitri shook his head. “Is there a programme?”

“A programme?”

“You know...” Dimiri shrugged. “Like a schedule? That tells you when people come on?” He did not care about any of the other fighters; he was only here to see one.

Sylvain gave him such a piteous look — the same expression he’d give upon seeing an abandoned puppy. “What in Fódlan do you think this is?” he asked. “A pantomime? One of Dorothea’s opera shows? Jeez, Dimitri…”

That reaction irked him. He folded his arms. “I get it.”

Sylvain shrugged. “Yeah, there’s no _programme,_ I’m afraid. People come out when they come out. But that just adds to the fun, don’t you think?”

That didn’t help Dimitri’s cause at all. He watched — and felt — as the Training Grounds began to fill up. People of all shapes and sizes pressed in around him, chattering and bellowing to one another. Looking over his shoulder sent anxiety shooting almost painfully through his body, making his skin crawl; so many people stood behind him that he felt on hyper-alert, as though his every move were being watched.

He was almost relieved when the fighting began, and his mind could be taken off of the crowd around him. Yet he felt nothing as he watched the two in the ring — the Knight of Seiros and Brigid’s Bane — begin their brawl. They fought well, both heavy hitters and surprisingly quick despite their vast size, but Dimitri’s eyes were glazed over. He couldn’t care less about the fighting, or betting on who would win, or watching blood pour from noses to cascade to the floor below in a scarlet waterfall. Those aspects made Dimitri almost sick, although Sylvain appeared crazed as he screamed for the Knight of Seiros to “punch her in the gut!”

No, Dimitri only cared about one thing tonight.

_The Meandering Sword._

He didn’t even know this fighter’s true name, and yet he was transfixed. He hadn’t bet on him — he had no interest in money, and already owned enough of it to last him a lifetime. He simply wanted to get to know him.

And thus, he would try.

He stood idly through the fights, giving feeble cheers whenever Sylvain celebrated, and mustering groans of disapproval to blend with the crowd. It was not until the familiar figure of the Meandering Sword sauntered into the ring, hopping deftly from one foot to the other in anticipation, that Dimitri perked up. Butterflies exploded in his stomach and swam up to tickle at his chest. He felt himself smile, and kept his eyes fixed upon the other young man standing mere meters from him behind the bars of the ring.

An announcer made some bellowing remarks, and Fraldarius moved at once. His opponent, the Knight of Seiros — a muscular man covered in countless white tattoos — awaited his actions. Just as he had with the Brigid’s Bane, he blocked Fraldarius’s swift punches, swung a leg out at his feet, and sent the Meandering Sword sprawling to the ground. He landed on his back, drawing a hiss from the crowd, and could only watch as his opponent made to collapse upon him, pouring his weight into his shoulder.

Fraldarius rolled at the last second, and leapt to his feet as the brawn crashed to the ground beneath. No time could be spared to hesitate, however; the Meandering Sword’s bandaged hands grasped at the man’s arm, and with all of his might he swung around, dragging the body with him, releasing only when his body made contact with the bars of the cage. The man — the Knight of Seiros — emitted a cry of pain, collapsing onto all fours.

Just as Fraldarius dashed forward though, one arm braced as if to catch the Knight in a headlock, he watched one muscular, tattooed arm pull back. Dimitri’s heart leapt to his throat as he watched the fist curl, and he made a pathetic yelp of warning along with a few other members of the crowd.

It was too late, however. The Knight of Seiros’ arm, white ink snaking across the skin in magnificent patterns, rushed forward, connecting with Fraldarius’ face with a sickening thud.

He backpedalled, staggering, but somehow managed to keep his footing. One hand grasped at his nose in a hastened attempt to staunch the blood flow — perhaps _this_ was why his bandages were such a mess — but the other one made a fist that he held low to his side. And as his opponent lurched towards him, arm coming out to make for another weighty swing, he ducked. The white-inked arm swept through the air, but Fraldarius’ free fist surged upwards in a sucker punch to the gut.

The crowd collectively felt the impact of that one action. Even Sylvain and Dimitri pursed their lips to conjure an ‘ _oof!_ ’ as the Knight of Seiros grasped at his own abdomen, falling to his backside. He was down for not even a second before the Sword was on him, jerking his knee to collide powerfully with the Knight’s face.

He collapsed, out cold. The crowd roared, but fury was alight behind Fraldarius’ burning amber eyes; he stood over his opponent’s limp body, lips pulled back in a snarl, and raised his leg again, thoroughly prepared to stamp on the Knight’s face with his scuffed leather boot. A pair of bouncers collapsed on him before he could. They grasped him by each arm and lifted him as easily as they would a child, hauling him, kicking and grunting, from the ring.

The crowd was enveloped in quiet for the shortest of moments, before erupting at once in a cacophony of jubilation.

Sylvain leapt into the air, both arms raised with fists to the ceiling. “He’s done it! He’s done it again! He’s kept his title!”

Dimitri had been stunned into silence. Was _that_ what Sylvain had meant when he’d said Fraldarius could ‘become someone else’? Whatever it was — whatever wild instinct had overtaken the Meandering Sword in that moment — Dimitri was intrigued. The man was dangerous. Feral. Dimitri’s feet took him slowly backwards and he slipped, unnoticed, from the crowd.

This was the time. Fraldarius had wanted to talk to Dimitri once — perhaps he would be interested again. If he waited outside that same door, started up a conversation, then maybe — just maybe — they could get to know each other.

It was all Dimitri wanted, to delve into that personality and uncover the secrets that inevitably laid beneath. He did not want to intrude, of course, and would back off if the fighter truly wasn’t interested, but _oh_ how Dimitri was fascinated — drowning in his allure _._

He made his way through the hallway, the noise from the fighting ring dwindling as he turned down the now-familiar corridor he’d seen the Sword down once before. He kept his distance again, looking towards the door at the end almost hopefully.

Yet there was no chuckling banter from behind that door this time. Pinelli, the Blade Breaker, did not emerge with smiles and witty remarks. No, instead Dimitri heard shouting. A man’s voice bellowed from the room within before Fraldarius’ taunting sneer sounded. While their words were unintelligible, the door burst open at once, and Dimitri watched as the Meandering Sword shoved a man into the wall of the corridor in a flurry of limbs and shouting.

Panicked, Dimitri leapt back, disappearing around the corner and out of view. Somehow, he didn’t think that this scene was meant for spectators.

“One day I’ll get out of here,” growled the voice of Fraldarius, almost cracking with the loathing that lined it. “You just fucking _watch_.”

And the other gravelly voice merely laughed. “We’d like to see you _try.”_

A noise sounded, like somebody being shoved further into a wall, and then footsteps came towards him. Dimitri backed away further still, knowing that he should flee back through the double doors to the safety of the ring, but instead he found himself frozen in place as the Meandering Sword marched into his view. He turned at once, nose a swollen mess with dried blood crusting around the bottom of his face, and fixed Dimitri with crazed, furious eyes.

“You again,” he spat, although he seemed visibly relieved. His shoulders loosened beneath their leather jacket, and Dimitri noticed that blood coated the front of the pale grey tank top beneath. Then, he made a ‘ _tsk.’_ “What do you want?”

Before Dimitri could answer, the man had turned, headed straight for the exit. Dimitri hurried after him up the steps, passing the bouncer and letting the door shut behind them as they re-entered the blackened alleyway. The previous conversation — Fraldarius roaring at the other man — fled from his mind as he worked up the courage to speak.

“Well, I was just thinking…” he panted, watching Fraldarius remove some sort of wrapped snack from his pocket. “What… are you doing tonight?” he started.

His comment was not well-received. He was met with furious furrowed eyebrows. _“Excuse_ me?” 

“Sorry, that came out wrong—” Dimitri tried, giving anxious laughs as anxiety rose within him.

“You want to know what I’m doing tonight? What, to abduct me, or something?”

“O-of course not!”

“Then what are you asking me my plans for?” Fraldarius opened the wrapper, which appeared to conceal a chocolate-coated protein bar.

Dimitri sighed. Breathed. Composed himself. He spoke his mind. “I just thought it might be nice if we could get to know each other, that’s all.”

Fraldarius took a bite of his food and chewed for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Finally, he swallowed and spoke. “So you’re like a stalker-fan?”

“Wh-what!?”

He gestured up and down Dimitri’s body with his protein bar. “You wanna be my buddy? Be my pal?”

He was patronising him. Dimitri frowned. “No, not exactly—”

“Well that’s what it fucking sounds like. I’ve had enough creeps come stalking me after fights, telling me they’re my biggest fan and all of that weird stuff. Is that what you’re doing too?”

“No, I promise!” Dimitri panicked, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s just, I could swear I know you, and… I think you’re…” _Interesting? Mysterious? Somebody I’d like to get to know?_

Alas, no matter which way he tried to phrase it, Dimitri would come off as a creep. A stalker-fan. He sighed, darkness clouding his mind. How stupid and intrusive could he _be,_ to think this was a good idea? Fraldarius owed him nothing, wasn’t interested, and to him, Dimitri was nothing more than a gnat, irritating him, gnawing at him, demanding his attention—

“No, you’re not like the others.” Fraldarius fixed him with a stare, calculating as he took another bite of his protein bar.

“Hm?” Dimitri looked into those eyes with caution, finding that they had softened somewhat. Now they looked almost as if they were laughing.

Through a mouthful of chocolate and nougat, the Sword gave a chuckle. “You’re _far_ too innocent.”

Dimitri could merely stare.

“Don’t have a bad bone in your body, do you? You big oaf.” And the man stepped closer. “So tall, with so much brawn. So much _muscle._ But you’ll never use it, will you?”

Dimitri swallowed, and realised he had begun to pace backwards as Fraldarius approached.

As he took the last few steps towards him, growing so close that Dimitri could smell the metallic tang of blood emanating from him, the Meandering Sword smiled. “ _No_. So if you want to get to know me… be here next Saturday. Same time.” He took the last bite of his snack, crumpled up the wrapper, and slipped it into Dimitri’s shirt pocket. With that, he turned, and slinked back into the shadows of the alleyway once more.

While a part of Dimitri remembered the tense conversation in the corridor — Fraldarius growling that he would ‘get out of here’ one day — another part of him tried to push it from his mind. That was not something he should have overheard; it was not his problem to worry about. Yet the venom in his voice, the way he’d spat his words with such vitriol, made Dimitri wonder if he was content with being a fighter at the Training Grounds. Fraldarius was successful — held the champion title, as Sylvain had told him — and had surely won a lot of riches, status, satisfaction from it. Why wouldn't he be happy?

Those were concerns for another time, though: Dimitri could ask him about them when next they met — when they could get to know each other. Next Saturday.

_Is this really happening?_

As he scampered away down the street, heading back home, Dimitri didn’t think he’d ever been so excited before in his life.


	4. one minute you’re on top, the next you’re not

His back hit the wall, and he finally let himself emit a hiss of pain.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius pawed delicately at his nose, feeling bursts of agony shoot through his face at even the slightest touch. It was as though his every nerve were in a vice grip. Sparks flew beneath his eyelids, white and yellow and electric blue as he felt around the bridge of his nose.

It hurt like a bitch. The pain threatened to override his brain, making him dizzy, vision blacking out until he felt he would lose consciousness. Face swollen, pain agonising, and struggling to breathe, Felix suspected it was broken.

_ Great. _

Well, he’d had worse. And more was sure to come his way at some point.

Felix sighed.

He didn’t want this anymore. He slid down the wall until he felt the cold of the floor beneath him, the damp seeping through his clothes to chill him to the bone. With his head back, eyes searching the blue-black sky far above him, he pressed his lips together tight.

Why had he ever agreed to this?

What could he do to get out of it?

Another stream of blood began to drip from his nose without warning.

_ Nothing. _ There was no way to get out of this.

The blood heated his skin in a way that felt almost comforting — reminiscent of the touch of another human. He had to remind himself that it was a bad omen: a warning that his nose truly  _ was _ broken. His instincts screamed out at him to go to a hospital, to seek help, to get it professionally repaired.

Unfortunately, the hospital was no place for somebody like him.

Another part of him, the crazed part of him, even considered running back down the alleyway. Back to Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the one person who actually seemed to care.

But, of course, he couldn’t do that either.

All he could do was sit back, trying desperately to wipe the blood away with the collar of his tank top, and try to make it through the night. A long, slow, and painful night. The sounds of the city, car horns and screaming, married with the pulsating ache spreading through his brain to lull him into slumber.


	5. IV. i am a little bit insecure, a little unconfident

Obeying the orders given to him, Dimitri showed up to the Training Grounds on the following Saturday. Once the Meandering Sword — victorious — left the ring, Dimitri pat Sylvain on the back, chattering to him excitedly.

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, Syl!”

The redhead nodded in response, but caught Dimitri by the wrist before he could weasel his way back through the crowd. “One o’ dese days, you’ll haf to tell me where you kee’ goin’!” he called through a mouthful of hotdog.

Dimitri gave a laugh. “I promise I will! Tonight!”

He dashed from the room. His frantic footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, soon swallowing up the sounds of cheering behind him. This time, though, he didn’t wait around in the dingy, poorly-lit corridor. He headed straight up the stairs and outside, hearing people and traffic and screeching car tires from the road beyond, and waited. A couple of figures skulked by the alleyway entrance, exchanging money for something; Dimitri pressed himself into the wall behind him.

Soon enough, he was joined. The Training Grounds’ door swung open and the Meandering Sword approached, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“You didn’t forget,” he remarked as he came to stand with Dimitri, the door clanging shut behind him.

Dimitri couldn’t have forgotten if he’d tried. He was so childishly excited; he felt positively  _ alive _ in the other man’s presence — he’d looked forward to the moment all week. “I feared I’d suffer a consequence if I’d forgotten,” he said in jest.

And the Sword almost gave a smile in response, breathing a laugh through his nose. “I’ll admit, I’ve been almost excited for tonight too.”

Dimitri’s heart somersaulted inside his chest. “You… have?”

“Yeah,” but Fraldarius’ voice was sly. “What could a big fool like you want to get to know me for?”

_ Why  _ wouldn’t _ I want to get to know you? _ Not only was this man a successful fighter, filled with mysteriousness and a strange familiarity, but his personality was intriguing too. Not to mention the fact that he was handsome, with such an enticing face it made Dimitri a little starstruck. He looked the Meandering Sword up and down for a moment; his round, yet pointed features, those gorgeous amber eyes that glowed like molten gold, and sleek hair tied back, the slightest wave to it visible from the ponytail that tousled in the wind.

Seeing the man's hair, Dimitri could only think of Glenn. The same blue-black hair, long and with a slight wave. "You look  _ just _ like a Fraldarius," he couldn’t resist muttering.

The golden eyes grew narrow with suspicion. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you by any chance know a man called... Rodrigue?"

Something flickered upon Fraldarius’ face — something Dimitri couldn't place. It looked almost like panic, before it dissolved into his usual drawn eyebrows and curled lip. "What?"

"He was friends with my father. He used to visit a lot when I was young, before I was sent to boarding school. He had two children — a son and a daughter. The son was Glenn, and we were friends with him as children, but their whole family had the same hair colour as you. You couldn’t be related, could you?"

The Sword glowered at him, face clouded with what could only be described as contempt. He was silent — eerily so. But when he spoke, his words clung to the air like icicles. "Must've been a different Fraldarius." He turned his head away.

For a moment, Dimitri had thought he was going to hit him, or bolt in the other direction. Instead, facing away, the Sword let out a heaving exhale that caused steam to billow around his nostrils. Dimitri chuckled; it made him look rather like an irritated dragon.

"Yes, you're probably right. They never mentioned any other family members," Dimitri said to relieve the tension.

It didn’t work. "Would you drop it?" Fraldarius snapped, eyes burning irritated holes into Dimitri's own. "I don't know these people."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry. The surname's not very common, is all."

"Neither is Blaiddyd, but I'm sure there are others out there."

"I suppose you're right!" He chuckled in response — until he realised something. "Wait… I could have sworn I never told you my surname."

The Sword’s eyes grew wide, like a deer caught in headlights. It made Dimitri give a hearty laugh, until he was snapped at. "Shut up!"

"How do you know it then, Meandering Sword?"

Frldarius whirled around as quick as a flash, and his arm shot out in a deft punch that hit Dimitri square in the tricep. He stared at the ground for a while with wide, embarrassed eyes. “Must’ve overheard it.”

Dimitri's entire arm had gone numb, but the grin plastered to his face made his cheeks lose all feeling as well. Why did he find this man so endearing, with all of his feistiness and bad manners?

“Well, if you’re not part of the family I know,” Dimitri started, heart rate hastening as anxiety caught up to him, “may I know your name?”

Once more, a glare was fixed upon him. Hot breath shot from the fighter’s nose in thin plumes, the dragon within him angered once more. He blinked, his lips tightened, and he spoke. “I’m Felix.”

_ Felix _ . Such a perfect name. A quick, sharp word that flickered across the tongue as it was spoken. A name characteristic of cats — of cunning, clever creatures. And one that meant  _ lucky _ — that meant  _ successful. _

Dimitri spoke without thinking, the words blurting from his mouth clumsily. “Well, Felix, would you like dinner?”

He grew frightened at once upon seeing Felix’s already-grim facial expression become a stormcloud. It was as if a foul haze had clouded it, and he positively snarled in response:  _ “What?” _

Dimitri swallowed. “Sorry, I just thought it might be nice if we could... grab something to eat?”

Felix beheld him for a long, silent moment — one so tense that it made Dimitri’s blood prickle uncomfortably in his veins. “... Dinner? You mean at a restaurant?”

“A restaurant, fast food… anything you want. I’m just hungry. I could even make something back at my place, if you wanted—”

“Is this a  _ date _ , Blaiddyd?” Felix spat suddenly. He looked ruffled, arms folded and eyes fiery.

“A date!?” Dimitri spluttered, almost choking on his own saliva.  _ A date!  _ The thought made his body flush with heat. “N-no, I didn’t want—! I mean… Not to be  _ rude _ — if you  _ wanted _ a date then I suppose—”

“ _ Sothis _ , you’re a mess. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, you Boar.”

_ Boar? _ Dimitri looked upwards, towards the light-polluted sky he’d seen so many times these past few days. He took a deep breath, the scent of rotting refuse drifting upon a humid breeze to reach his nostrils, and released it. He felt his heart slow.  _ Stay calm, you fool. _ And when he looked down, the slightest of smiles danced upon Felix Fraldarius’ thin lips.

He could only muster a whisper of an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“You truly are a disaster,” Felix responded, although a chime of amusement laced his words. “Now, tell me. Do you mean this as a date?”

“I didn’t,” Dimitri answered sincerely.

“ _ Didn’t? _ But you do now?”

Why was nothing simple with this man? Why did everything need to be a game?

“I could use a bite to eat,” Felix grinned. “Take me wherever you wanna go.”


	6. V. i wanna feel what i thought was never real

“What the fuck? Listen, when I said ‘wherever you wanna go’, I wasn’t aware you’d be total bougie scum.”

“Hey!” Dimitri scolded him jokingly. “This place is nice!”

They looked up at the building before them, Dimitri with a smile, Felix with a furrowed brow. An ornate sign was placed above the great glass doors, illuminated by orange lights. Its flowing golden letting read one simple word:

_ Oghma. _

Felix did not look impressed. “This place is for elites.”

“It’s my favourite restaurant!”

“Exactly.”

Dimitri pouted, but opened the door for Felix regardless.

“I’m so underdressed,” he growled through his teeth.

Dimitri at least looked somewhat suited to such a restaurant, still wearing the white dress shirt and handsome blue suit pants he’d attended the university’s council meeting in. Felix, on the other hand…

The man seemed to emit a dark, brooding energy as he sloped into the restaurant, jaw so tight Dimitri feared he might crack his teeth. He wore his leather jacket over his blood-stained grey vest shirt, accompanied by the only shredded black skinny jeans Dimitri had ever seen him wear aside from his fighting shorts. He came frighteningly close to asking Felix whether they were the only jeans he owned, yet the horror of what repercussions might await him if he did made him shut his mouth.

The two men crossed the red carpet beneath them until they reached the restaurant’s front desk. The interior was like a second home to Dimitri by now — he hardly took note of the crystal chandeliers, scintillating the warm amber candlelight across the otherwise low-lit foyer. Felix, however, was fixated on them. The fighter turned, gawking, as he took in the decorative plants and waxed mahogany beams along the walls, and positively growled once he spotted the identical water features that guarded the doors to the kitchen.

Each table was decorated beautifully, with a crisp white tablecloth and pristine dinnerware lining it. At some of them sat diners, glancing at the dishevelled-looking men through their snooty narrowed eyelids.

“Are you into humiliation, or something?” Felix hissed through his grit teeth. His golden eyes promised hell as they glowered up at Dimitri.

The other man felt heat rise to his cheeks at such an insinuation. He answered earnestly. “I truly didn’t mean to embarrass—”

“Master Blaiddyd!” The front of house greeted Dimitri warmly. “It’s excellent to see you — we have your favourite booth free tonight!”

“Thank you!” Dimitri responded, and took the lead as they were escorted further into the restaurant.

_ “Master _ Blaiddyd!?” Felix whispered as he followed, positively hateful.

“I come here often!” Dimitri gave back.

“Why, because your dad  _ owns _ the place?”

“He… he was just a shareholder—”

“Ugh!”

They were ushered into their seats: two plush cushioned loveseats sat opposite one another in a booth, with a window at their side instead of a wall. They were handed red leather-bound menus and left on their own.

If Felix could have emitted steam, he would have. “You don’t know what you’ve got,  _ princess _ ,” he spat as he opened his menu.

“I just wanted to take you somewhere nice,” Dimitri responded. He had expected Felix to be pleased — happy to be somewhere so fancy — but it seemed he’d gotten the situation all wrong. “I’m sorry if—”

“110 Gold for a steak!?” Felix exclaimed at his menu, outrage wavering his voice. “And  _ 90 _ for a fucking burger!? I can get one for 5 at  _ Almyra Fried Chicken! _ ”

“You can always get something a bit cheaper,” Dimitri suggested. Inside his chest, his heart pounded — why oh  _ why _ had he made such a Goddess-awful mistake? Why couldn’t he have just taken Felix to a cheap diner? That would have made everything easier — and wouldn’t have made Felix hate his guts. “A lot of the veggie dishes are pretty cheap. Like the ratatouille—?”

“You think I’m going to eat  _ vegetables? _ ” Felix’s eyes promised murder. “Fuck no. I’ll have to pay a crazy amount of money for something I could get for ten percent of the price someplace else, which I can  _ guarantee _ is just as good as whatever steaming shit they’ll serve up here—!”

“Can I get any drinks for you guys?” A server materialising by their side made both Dimitri and Felix sit back, lips tight. “Oh, Mr. Blaiddyd!” they then exclaimed. “How nice to see you!”

Dimitri turned, and found himself met with the handsome young face of a server he recognised. “Good evening, Cyril,” he replied. “I trust you’re well?”

“All the better for seeing you, Mr. Blaiddyd!” Cyril positively grinned, his startling crimson eyes shining out from beneath the thick chocolate curls that fell across his forehead. “What can I get for ya?”

“Oh, uh, do you know what you’d like, Felix?” asked Dimitri.

“Ribeye steak. Medium rare.” The man spoke in a mumble, closing his menu and thrusting it at Cyril. “Please.”

“Ah, straight to food. Nice and straightforward. Can I get ya any sauce with that?”

“Does it cost extra?”

“Nope.”

“Then, peppercorn… Please.”

Cyril turned to Dimitri. “And for you, Mr. Blaiddyd?”

“Oh, I’ll take the… um…” He pored over his own menu.  _ Lightly braised; seasoned with Brigidian salt and lemongrass; a mellow, earthy flavour... _ What did those words mean? How did they taste? “Just tell Chef Kirsten I’m here — he’ll know what to make me.”

“I know saghert and cream’s your favourite! No need to hide it from me!” Cyril chirped, taking his menu from him. “And what drinks can I get ya?”

“House red, please—” said Dimitri, just as Felix mumbled: “Water.”

“A house red and a water. Comin’ right up.” Cyril scampered away.

Dimitri blinked at Felix — whose lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes anywhere but Dimitri’s — and cocked his head. “You’re just drinking water?”

“Says you!” Felix flared up, meeting his eyes now. “Who eats saghert and cream as a main meal!?”

Dimitri couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose we’re both weird, huh?”

“What’s weird about drinking water? Forgive me for not wanting to spend another hundred Gold on a glass of crusty grape juice.”

“Fair enough!” Dimitri gave a nervous laugh.  _ Oh _ , how he hoped Felix wasn’t hating him more and more by the second. The idea swam around in his head like a tiny panicked fish, throwing itself into the sides of Dimitri’s skull in its desperation to be free.  _ He hates this. He hates you. This is going terribly. _

He had to take a breath to calm himself —  _ try to think rationally. _ Given Felix’s evidently blunt personality, he would probably just walk away if he was having a terrible time. He didn’t seem the type to sugarcoat things; if Dimitri merely asked how he felt, he would most likely speak his mind—

“So, what’s your excuse?” Felix interrupted him, putting a rest to the crazed little fish’s attempts to crack his skull in half. “Saghert and cream as a  _ main fucking meal? _ ”

Dimitri took a breath. “Yes, I know my eating habits are odd...” he gave, licking his dry lips. Was he really going to admit this to a borderline stranger…? “If I’m honest, I… actually have no sense of taste.”

Felix blinked at him, but his eyes were not judgmental, nor mocking, nor even confused. He simply beheld Dimitri as normally as if he’d just been told the time. “Why do you come to 5-star restaurants, then?”

Something about his words stung. Dimitri still didn’t like to talk about this; thinking about it made his heart effuse a dark, cold mist into his chest that would burn a hole in his core, making him ache with the longing and the sadness he’d managed finally to control. “That’s part of the problem.”

“Problem?”

The restaurant around them seemed to grow quiet; it was as if every other guest ceased to exist, their chattering disappearing and the sounds of cutlery on plates echoing emptily around his brain until they were no more. “When my father passed away, I became somebody else,” he said, his words hanging heavily in the air. “I was… sad. That’s an understatement, but I can’t describe the pain. While I like to think I’m mostly over it now, I never regained my sense of taste, which disappeared when he died. Coming here — his favourite restaurant — well... it reminds me of him.”

Felix kept steady eyes upon him. “Sorry to hear that.”

The air cleared at once. Noise returned, the lights seemed to burn brighter, and Dimitri’s mind jolted out of its stasis as he realised he sat before the Meandering Sword — the man he’d been so desperate to get to know. “Shit— Sothis, I’m so sorry, I…” His cheeks and temples burned fiercely in embarrassment. “I have no idea why I just—”

Felix shrugged. “You know what they say, unpack all your trauma on the first date.”

Dimitri almost choked on air, spluttering as that one word cracked through his ears like a gunshot. “D-date!?”

“Here we go!” Cyril’s chirping interrupted them, placing two glasses upon the table. Dimitri was still struggling to comprehend, staring into Felix’s eyes that smirked so smugly back at him. “And your meal is coming right up! Once I told Chef Kirsten you were here, Mr. Blaiddyd, well he started on your meal right away. Said you always take priority!”

Dimitri smiled at the boy. “Thank you, Cyril.”

And as the food came — a complimentary dish of  _ garlic and thyme buttered potatoes _ accompanying it — Felix’s little smirk remained. The man ate surprisingly delicately despite his speed. The way he shovelled his steak into his mouth made him seem almost ravenous, but he didn’t spill a morsel. He was well-mannered, and knew his way around the fanciful cutlery laid before him.

_ So curious, _ Dimitri thought as he picked at his saghert and cream, topped with glacé cherries. A rough-and-tumble man from a fighting pit, who only ever wore one scruffy pair of jeans, who had an almost visceral reaction to all of the riches in this place… knew his way around fine-dining dinnerware. He was evidently starving, and yet knew his manners.

Just who  _ was _ Felix Fraldarius?

“Good Goddess, don’t let me see the bill,” he grumbled a few minutes later, watching with contempt as Cyril collected their empty plates. “How much was your dessert, princess? A hundred Gold? A thousand?”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be mean,” he simply said. “Besides, water is free, so you only owe 110 Gold.”

“Hmph.” Felix pulled a wallet, made from peeling black leather, from within the pocket of his jeans. His brow furrowed as he looked inside. While he made no noise, Dimitri watched his lips curl irritably, mouthing the word  _ “fuck”. _

He couldn’t stop his hand from reaching across the table, touching the cold, pale skin of Felix’s wrist and causing the other man to look up at him in alarm. “Don’t worry,” Dimitri said in a low voice; he was aiming for reassuring, but instead realised he sounded a little dark. “It’s on me.”

Felix’s voice was quiet too in response. “I can’t let you—”

“You can.” And Dimitri smiled. He had more money than he could ever need, and from the looks of things, Felix did not. He’d never really met anybody of a status or income so much lower than him, but as he pulled out a wad of Gold notes from his own wallet, he realised he didn’t mind. Didn’t care at all.

“You know what, you Boar?” Felix spoke up, causing Dimitri to raise his eyebrows in response.

“What’s that?” he asked back.

“What you said earlier might’ve been right. Maybe we are both weird.”

Dimitri didn’t know what had changed — what had made Felix’s scowls dissolve into thinly-veiled smiles — but he liked it. Seeing Felix’s face as something other than hard and irritated was refreshing. But when his golden eyes looked Dimitri up and down, lingering downwards as if wishing to see what was under the table, his heart flipped. What was that look for…?

“So then,  _ Mr. Blaiddyd,” _ Felix said, something cunning working its way onto his thin lips. “Tell me. What’re you doing later?”


	7. VI. even though you’re so close to me, you’re still so distant

The sound of rustling bedsheets grew louder in Dimitri’s ears, the golden glow of the sun through cream-coloured blinds prying open his eyelids.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so relaxed — waking to a morning where he didn't feel stressed or anxious for once. A full, adoring sensation filled his chest, making a small smile cradle his lips; this feeling was so unfamiliar. Why was it happening…?

"Fucking finally. You’re awake." A dry and irritated voice drifted into Dimitri’s ears. He didn’t recognise it.

_Who in Fódlan is that?_

He sat up, the chill of the morning hitting his bare chest and shoulders before he pulled the sheets up for warmth. Yet sitting across from him at the bottom of the bed, bare legs crossed, was a sight that sent butterflies hurtling through his stomach. The other man blinked slowly at Dimitri through honey-coloured eyes, and Dimitri’s own baggy, black t-shirt drowned his lithe frame.

_Felix._ The night rushed back to him: the restaurant, Felix leading him to a hotel, the most passionate night Dimitri had ever experienced unfolding within.

No wonder he hadn’t recognised the room he was in, with its plain furnishings and vague abstract paintings upon each wall; they were in a hotel room. Felix had dragged him here — had spat and hissed at Dimitri’s suggestion of heading back to one of their own places — and had made him pay for a room with a double bed.

Dimitri didn’t give a shit. Last night had been perfection.

Felix’s blue-black hair cascaded across his shoulders, choppy bangs falling lazily into his eyes. He looked beautiful — somehow even more so than usual. Now, he looked natural. Small pink and white scars were scattered randomly across his bare skin and his knuckles — no longer wrapped — were bruised purple and brown. He looked almost vulnerable. Dimitri did not think it possible, and yet Felix’s eyes looked more open and earnest, the shirt drowning him making him look somehow innocent in a way.

“Good morning,” Dimitri merely said, his voice sounding sleepy and dreamy — drunk on happiness.

“Disgusting,” Felix muttered, face turning to one of contempt. “Stop looking at me like that.”

It roused a laugh from Dimitri. “So, uh—”

But Felix interrupted him, swinging his long legs from the bed and standing up. “Close your eyes.”

“Close them?”

“Or face away, whatever.” His words were a command, so strong that Dimitri obeyed by instinct. He shut his eyelids and heard the rustling of clothing before his brow furrowed. Felix was getting changed. After last night, and the events that had ensued, what could the Meandering Sword possibly have to hide?

He pried one eye open, hoping to be subtle, but he met the other man’s gaze at once. 

“Knew you couldn’t be trusted.” Felix was staring him down, now clothed in his black jeans and the tight black half-tank he always wore beneath his vest shirts. 

_Of course._ That had taken Dimitri by surprise last night. He had never really understood the purpose of that half-tank; an undershirt, he’d supposed, perhaps one so tight so as to keep him insulated. Instead, however, he’d found out that the garment was a binder — a garment he’d become very used to hearing about from his friend Claude — used to keep chests looking flat.

Felix was trans, and had looked fierce — almost embarrassed — as Dimitri had discovered. Dimitri, however, could not have cared less, except from panicking whether it was safe for Felix to be fighting with the binder on.

“Probably not. Now shut the fuck up and kiss me,” had been Felix’s breathless response. And Dimitri had hungrily obliged, pressing his lips hard against Felix’s own and feeling a tongue enter his mouth as reward.

Perhaps Dimitri even liked Felix a little more than just mere attraction would explain. It was strange; he had met Felix only three times, and had known his name for less than 24 hours, but deep inside he felt so utterly enamoured. He respected Felix, feared him, found him hilarious, found him handsome, found him endearing…

It was so much more intense than any other crush he’d ever felt.

Felix growled and turned around, pulling the grey vest shirt over his head, the muscles in his shoulders looking sharp and powerful beneath the morning light. “Get up, lazy bitch,” he grumbled.

 _Is this really the guy you’re starting to fall for?_ one half of Dimitri’s brain asked him. Felix was so rude. Irritable, galling, with a hideous attitude. But, as Dimitri reacted, slowly slipping from the bed and staggering to keep himself upright, the other half answered for him. _Oh, fuck yeah._

“Why are you in such a rush?” he asked. “I can call room service to ask for breakfast if you’d like—?”

“ _Breakfast?_ ” Felix spat, spinning around to shoot Dimitri with eyes like needles. “ _Sothis,_ what do you think this is?”

Dimitri blinked. “Uh… a hotel?”

“No, you idiot. _Us._ Last night. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea…?” Dimitri swallowed, and felt something cold manifest in his chest. He didn’t like this feeling — this rising unease.

He received a glare in response as Felix, now fully dressed, shrugged on his jacket. “Whatever the fuck happened last night, ignore it. Pretend it never happened.”

Those words felt like a kick to the gut. “May I ask… why?”

It didn’t do him any favours. “How naive _are_ you?” Felix asked, stepping towards him on socked feet with his hands in his pockets. “What, you think that was something more than just a hook-up? Even _talking_ about this is embarrassing.”

Dimitri could only blink down at him. Despite his thoughts coiling in his brain like snakes, tails lashing frantically and dangerously, he could only think of one thing upon looking down at the scowling face of Felix Fraldarius.

 _His hair looks so gorgeous when it’s loose._ There was a slight wave to the sheet of midnight blue, and the way it reflected the light made it look shiny and healthy. It was beautiful.

Felix grunted and turned away, heading to where his shoes had been kicked halfway across the room. “Useless,” he muttered under his breath, the insult clearly aimed at Dimitri. He began to pull on the boots, lacing them up.

“Are you going?” Dimitri asked, head buzzing with questions. What had he done wrong? What did Felix mean? _Had_ this been ‘just a hook-up’? But, that didn’t make sense; Dimitri had taken him to dinner first, and their night had been so _passionate—_

“Of course I’m going. I’ve got better shit to do.”

“Felix,” Dimitri called out, watching the other man cross to the door.

“What?” he asked, face like thunder.

“Can I ask… What did I do wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Why do you want to forget this?” Upset was rising inside him. The more he panicked, the more he realised: he liked Felix. He liked him as so much more than a hook-up; he didn’t care whether he was semi-famous, the reigning champion of a fighting ring. He liked him for who he was. Despite that person being so… abrasive.

Felix grit his teeth visibly and thought a moment, eyes locked onto Dimitri’s own. “Have you never heard of a ‘one-night stand’?”

The words felt like a bullet to the pit of a stomach, spreading pain and heat throughout him and making his jaw slack. “Yes. Of course I have,” he said, sounding wounded.

“Good. Then get the idea in your head.”

Felix turned without another word and let the door slam behind him. And Dimitri was left alone, a chill creeping across his skin, which he then realised was bare. He looked down, finding himself standing only in his underwear, and scrambled to find his trousers.

The walk home was dismal. Tidying the hotel room, he had found his shirt that Felix had been wearing as he’d woken up; he’d smelled it, finding upon it the sweaty, handsome scent of the Meandering Sword — the one that had danced through his nostrils for hours on end the previous night.

After that, he’d adopted a foul mood. It had been only his third time meeting up with Felix, and the two had seemingly hit it off. They’d grown closer — no matter how small that distance was — over dinner, and had even come back to the hotel room for a night of passion. And it _was_ passion, to Dimitri at least. Their kisses had lingered, feeling somehow stronger than lust alone would allow for, and they had embraced as they’d drifted to sleep.

Apparently that had meant nothing.

He was positively scowling by the time he let himself into his dormitory’s bedroom at midday, but had no time to mope as Sylvain pounced on him.

“ _Dimitri!_ Thank Sothis you’re home!” And the redhead embraced him.

“Wh-what?” Dimitri asked.

Pulling away, his friend’s face was frantic. “You told me you’d tell me where you kept going last night! And then you don’t fucking show up home!? You don’t answer calls, or texts! Nothing, Dima!”

“I-I’m sorry—!”

“I thought you’d been kidnapped or some shit! Ingrid kept threatening to call the police!”

“Sylvain, I’m—”

“That would’ve been a real mess, though,” he muttered, “seeing as the last place you were seen was in, y’know, an illegal fighting ring—”

“Listen, I’m fine,” Dimitri said, trying to be reassuring. He pulled himself from Sylvain’s grasp and crossed the room.

But Sylvain was hot on his tail, grabbing onto his shoulders and shaking him slightly. “Where in Fódlan do you keep running off to!? Every time that Sword guy appears you go all woozy! Are you gonna let me know, or what!?”

Dimitri was tired. His mind was hazy, body physically exhausted, and just for once, he was a little sick of Sylvain’s babbling. “I’ve been spending time with him,” he simply said.

Sylvain stood dumbfounded. “You… you _what!?_ What did you just say!?”

“You heard me.”

“You’ve been spending time with _Fraldarius?”_

Dimitri nodded absentmindedly, sitting down on his bed and kicking off his shoes. His phone buzzed in his pocket. _Ah, shit_ , he thought; he hadn’t been able to charge it at all last night — the battery was probably almost dead.

Yet when he freed it from the confines of his pocket, he found himself reading a text that had lit up the screen. It was from an unfamiliar number.

_ > boar. did i get the number right? _

Only one person had ever called Dimitri _“Boar”._ His heart leapt inside his chest, mind kicking into overdrive. His fingers shot across the keyboard at once, typing back the only response his mind could fathom.

_ > If you meant to reach the phone of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, then yes! _

“I can’t _believe_ you’re friends with the Meandering Sword!” Sylvain rambled, standing over him.

_ > ugh youre so annoying _

“I mean, _fuck_ , Dimitri!”

_ > How did you get my number, anyway? _

_ > your phone password was easy to guess. found it in your contacts while you were sleeping _

Coming from anyone else, that idea would have terrified him. Somehow, though — perhaps Dimitri was crazed, drunk on infatuation — the idea of Felix doing something so creepy was simply mysterious.

_ > You little creep! _

_ > whatever _

“Holy shit! I know!”

_ > So, can I help you? _

_ > if youre so inclined. meet me outside the grounds next week. same day i always fight. around midnight _

Dimitri’s eyes widened and his lips parted. How was he even to comprehend such a request, especially after the events of their last meeting? He shook his head and began to type once more, unable to resist speaking his mind.

_ > I kinda thought you’d never want to see me again after today ^^; _

The response he received, however, almost made him squeal in delight.

_ > dont make me change my mind. be there. saturday. bitch _

“Are you even listening to me!?”

Dimitri looked up to Sylvain at last, dazed smile plastered to his lips. “Sorry. Yes.”

“Your party’s coming up soon, Dima!” he exclaimed, looking almost crazed, hair sticking up in all angles from where he’d run his hands through it.

Felix’s last few words upon the screen were making Dimitri’s heart dance — he could hardly concentrate on anything else. _Your party._ His 22nd birthday party. “Yeah?” he asked. How did that matter? “So?”

“So!? _Invite him!”_

“Invite him to my party?” The words became entangled in Dimitri’s ears. _What? How?_ “Can I even do that?”

“Um, yes!? We wanna meet him!”

And, with the promise of meeting up once more with Felix Fraldarius overriding the dull ache of sadness he’d been left with in the hotel room, Dimitri gave a nod. Yes. Perhaps he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the incredible @_lazulila on Twitter!
> 
> https://twitter.com/_lazulila/status/1313573979840544774


	8. VII. and i can’t bring you back

_Invite him._

Of course, that was simple enough in concept. _Just ask him if he’d like to attend the party! There’ll be drinks, music, food… Easy._

Yet when Dimitri turned down the alleyway and saw the short, lean silhouette of Felix standing by the Training Grounds' door, he froze.

He was so far removed from Felix in every way possible. He wasn't even worthy of being in the same room as him, never mind inviting him to a party. The way Felix stood, as if he owned the street, well-aware that he was better than the rest of the human population, made Dimitri’s heart pound in his throat.

Before he could make another move, Felix’s head turned towards him, and he began to walk.

 _Fuck,_ Dimitri thought. What was he thinking? Inviting him to a party? How childish—!

“You dick. Keeping me waiting,” Felix spat as he came closer.

Dimitri glanced at his watch; he was right on time. “Y-You said you’d be done at midnight—!”

“I said _around_ midnight. I’ve been done for twenty minutes.”

Dimitri merely stood, watching as the shorter man stopped before him, and — despite slight tendrils of terror curling in his chest — he smiled. His feelings, somehow, had not changed at all. “Did you want me for something?” he asked.

Felix brought his hand up to his face in an almost exasperated way. “Yeah, I guess.” He waited for a response that Dimitri did not give, and uncovered his face. He looked uncomfortable — irritation lining his features. “You’re a gentle little bitch, aren’t you?”

“And you swear too much,” Dimitri said.

“Proving my point...”

“And what point is that?”

“I just… I was probably too harsh on you, back at the hotel.”

Dimitri’s heart sang; was this an apology? Was Felix taking back his words? “Oh?”

“I know you didn’t mean any harm — that you’re just an idiot—”

“Charming.”

Felix glowered. “I just don’t want you thinking this is anything more than it is.”

“Okay,” Dimitri said. While he felt deflated at once, he nodded nonetheless, trying to mask the sorrow rising within him. “What is it, then?”

“Agh.” Felix rolled his eyes. “Look. I guess what I want to say is... Don’t get attached.”

“Don’t get attached?”

“What are you? A parrot? Shut up for once.” Felix huffed. “If you didn’t already guess, this shit is dangerous. Being a fighter is dangerous. There’s a reason I don’t fucking talk to anyone. I don’t wanna drag them into this mess.”

 _What mess?_ Dimitri wanted so desperately to ask, but he needed to be quiet: stop being a parrot.

“So, yeah. Sorry if I was mean, or whatever. I know you’re delicate. But you can’t think of this as a regular thing.” His eyes were darting every which way, looking anywhere but Dimitri’s own.

And, upset writhing inside him to send a dull, desolate pain through his chest, Dimitri exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are _you_ apologising?”

He shrugged. “For getting involved, I guess. You… fascinate me, Felix. I hope that doesn’t sound weird but… I don’t know, I like you.” He had never been one for speeches, so continued before he clammed up. “I like you for who you are, not because you’re the Meandering Sword. If you ever wanted to… I don’t know, be friends? Then I’d love that.”

And Felix’s eyes narrowed. He waited a moment, as if soaking in the other man's words, before he spoke. “You want to be friends?”

Dimitri shrugged. He didn’t want to be friends — not really. He wanted to be _more,_ but that was too much to ask. “If you do, then of course.”

The look he was given was unplaceable — a mixture of amused, humbled, and incredulous. “You didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, did you?”

“... Hm?”

And then he became angry. “For Sothis’ sake, Boar! You stupid, bumbling idiot! I tell you to fuck off, to get away from me, and you ask to be _friends!?”_

He was shouting, and Dimitri took a few paces back. He held up his hands in a sort of surrender. “I’m sorry—!”

“No! I don’t wanna be your stupid little _friend!_ I don’t want to be your hook-up! I don’t want anything to do with you!” Spit flew from his mouth, and as he stopped to pant, sucking air in between his teeth, Dimitri noticed tears welling in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here! You shouldn’t want anything to do with me!” With those last words, his voice cracked. His eyebrows flickered, wounded for just a split second before creasing again in fury. “Don’t fucking come to watch me anymore.”

He turned. Instead of disappearing into the shadows of the alleyway once more, he shoved a key into the door of the Training Grounds, wrenched it open, and shouldered irritably past the bouncer inside. The door clanged shut behind him, and Dimitri was alone.

So alone, again. 

He had received yet another gut-wrenching kick in the stomach to send his dinner rising upwards, bile creeping into his throat and threatening to make him sick. The promise of the evening had made him so happy — made him practically skip down the streets wondering what awaited him. An apology? A dinner date? Another night in a hotel?

_No._

Alas, he should have expected this, he supposed. The only purpose Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd served was to annoy people. He worried his friends, irritated his colleagues, and — apparently — sent potential suitors spiralling into a frenzy. He wasn’t good for much. Why would the most gorgeous, perfect man alive want him?

Yet as Dimitri began walking away, turning his back on the Training Grounds for what he promised would be the last time, one memory snagged in his brain. He plucked it from where it flailed, and thought deep.

He recalled his second visit to the Training Grounds, where he’d snuck away after Felix’s brutal fight to overhear a conversation he assuredly wasn’t meant to hear. On further thought, he supposed the horrific, near-fatal injuries Felix had inflicted on his opponent that night aligned with his furious outburst from moments before, but that was not what Dimitri wanted to think about. He wanted to think about those few words he’d heard leaving Felix’s growling throat.

 _“One day I’ll get out of here. You just fucking_ watch _.”_

And the ugly, older voice in return.

 _“We’d like to see you_ try _.”_

… What did they mean? Evidently Felix was not content at the Training Grounds, as Dimitri had once suspected. And, from the sounds of the reply, something was stopping him from leaving.

But, what?

Somehow, Dimitri wondered whether those two events — Felix's promise of leaving the Grounds, and his demands that Dimitri shouldn’t want anything to do with him, saying he didn’t want to ‘drag him into this mess’ — were connected.

He wondered whether Felix was safe.

Only two things were for sure. One: Felix wanted nothing to do with him anymore. And two: he sure as hell wasn’t coming to Dimitri’s party now.


	9. even if you’re not with me, i’m with you

Felix’s heart roared in his chest as he stormed through the Training Grounds into the locker room.

He hated himself. He hated this place. He hated everything about his sad, sorry little life. Striding across to his locker, his hand curled into a fist and he brought it crashing into the flimsy metal door with all of his might.

“Someone’s grumpy tonight,” the ugly, grating sound of his boss’s voice sneered behind him — snooty, pompous, and dripping with sarcasm. Felix whirled around. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

Most of all, though, he hated _her._

Felix had never cared to learn his boss’s name. He recalled hearing her addressed as ‘Cornelia’ once, but to him, she was simply the Boss. She was hideous in every sense of the word — a despicable excuse of a human; dressed in a fine maroon pantsuit with shining rose-gold ringlets of hair, she thought she was the epitome of beauty. She was not. Felix felt his fists tighten once more, wanting nothing more than to wring her neck — to do to her what she made her fighters do to one another.

“Has your fancy man gotten the better of you?” she scorned, pursing her plump pink lips.

Felix’s blood ran cold. “My what?”

And the Boss snickered. “I’m just saying. It’d be a shame if your pretty little blonde were to get under your skin. We don’t want him distracting you, do we?”

No. _No._ The world crumbled around him, and Felix was left staring into an empty void.

_“... pretty little blonde…”_

_Dimitri._

How did they know about Dimitri? Hell, the kid had only shown up a handful of times—!

Yet, he supposed, such was the cold, unyielding grip the Boss had on his pathetic life. He knew not how the woman acquired such information, but with it she could manipulate her fighters as easily as pulling on the strings of some beaten, discarded old puppets.

This was why he couldn’t risk bringing Dimitri into his life.

_“It’d be a shame if your pretty little blonde were to get under your skin.”_

Thank Sothis Felix had pushed him away. 


	10. VIII. i let go, watching you turn your back

Despite the music's bass pounding so hard he could feel it in his chest, Dimitri felt nothing. The glass between his fingers was cold and wet, the ice inside creating a cool, slippery texture as condensation formed on its outside. People pressed in around him, dancing to the music, ordering drinks from the bartender, laughing and calling to each other.

"What've you got?" A voice to Dimitri's right made him jump slightly, and he turned to find a man standing beside him at the bar, looking down with a glass of brown liquid in his hand.

"Uh, lemonade," Dimitri shouted over the music, watching the man smile. He was a little plain-looking: pale skin and a square jaw, a backwards cap hiding dusky-tinged blonde hair.

"Just lemonade?" He laughed a little. Dimitri nodded. "Can I get you anything more _exciting?_ I was looking for someone to do Duscan Carbombs with."

Dimitri took a swig of his lemonade and shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not your guy."

Tonight, Dimitri could think of nothing worse than a Duscan Carbomb. Purposely going out this evening without his friends and finding a bar was his attempt to forget. He could find somebody, go home with them, and have the time of his life away from the one thing that had been plaguing his mind as of late.

 _Felix_.

But Felix was the only thing he wanted.

 _Why?_ Why did his heart still skip a beat at the thought of the fighter? While ordering his drink at the bar, Dimitri had intended to get smashed — so drunk he couldn't think straight and would forget all about the Meandering Sword while finding someone new to take him home. But he'd changed his mind.

Dimitri wanted him. He didn't want to forget him. He'd ordered a measly lemonade and attempted to lose himself in the music, but the image of the fighter's lean, supple body beneath his eyelids had driven him back to the bar, to sit on a stool alone and dream of him.

"Come on, don't you want some fun?" The guy next to Dimitri snapped him from his thoughts, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"No thanks," Dimitri could feel his irritation rising, watching as the stranger pouted at him.

"I'm just trying to help you have a good time..." He took Dimitri's glass from out of his hand and placed it down on the bar. "You look miserable here by yourself. Let me buy you something, come on—"

"I said no." Dimitri stood up, feeling blood rush through his body at the idea of confrontation. He didn't like discord. With his jaw tight, his feet began to move, getting him as far away from the stranger as possible. Without realising, he was headed for the door, winding his way back through throngs of excited university students.

Once outside, the cool air embraced him and he pulled up the collar of his fur-lined jacket, protecting his neck from the biting chill. Anger still bubbled in his chest; he turned a corner, heading down an empty side-street, wanting nothing more than to head back to his dorm, before he heard footsteps running behind him.

With fright making his heart pound harder, Dimitri turned to see the same stranger headed straight for him, shouting. "Hey!" His voice was urgent.

Who _was_ this guy!? With each hair standing on end from panic, Dimitri became hyper-alert; his every muscle felt ready to fly, but he was rooted to the spot in shock and anxiety. The other man was shorter, but still well-built; while Dimitri was bigger in almost every respect, the woman-beater tank-top the stranger wore made him think he wouldn't be afraid to use the muscles that bulged from beneath.

"Hey! I'm glad I caught you." He stopped running, instead walking past Dimitri to put himself between him and the direction he was headed. "Come on now. Won't you give me a chance?"

Dimitri was positively baffled. "Who _are_ you?"

He smiled. "I'm Randolph. What about you?"

"No," Dimitri shook his head. "I mean, who do you think you are? I said _no_ . I'm not interested. I'm not looking to get drunk with anyone, much less with someone who _followed me out of the bar.”_

Randolph’s face grew irritated. "There's no need to be like that."

"Will you leave me alone?" Dimitri was growing fearful. Despite knowing he could defend himself easily against an attacker, he was terrified of fights — especially of being hurt simply because of a refusal.

"Stop being such a bitch! Why won't you just give me a chance? You might fucking enjoy yourself!"

Dimitri felt each muscle begin to shake. He needed desperately to get away, but the stranger's rising anger left him stunned, unable to move.

"What, are you that much of a coward?" Randolph stepped up to Dimitri. "What's your problem?"

He came even closer, and Dimitri found his breath heavy in his chest. Before he could think, he reached out both hands to Randolph’s shoulders and gave him a little push. "Leave me alone." His voice was hard — low.

Both of Randolph’s own hands shot out and pushed Dimitri back. "Oh, so you're gonna start?" Another shove, the impact making him take a step back. "I'm just trying to help you have a good time, and you get _physical?_ " His voice was rising as he continued forward.

"Calm down," Dimitri hissed at him, fear and panic writhing inside his chest.

One more hard push against his shoulders, " _Fuck you, dude!_ ", and the man recoiled an arm, fist hitting the side of Dimitri's face hard, pain shooting across his cheekbone and jaw.

A pained shout left his mouth, hand coming up to grab at his own face, but Randolph’s fist punched him in the same spot before he got a chance. It knocked him off his feet, and Dimitri hit the ground hard, his tailbone screaming out with the impact and his palms scraping against the floor.

Randolph stood above him now, shoulders square and breathing through his teeth. Just as Dimitri braced himself for another hit, however, more running footsteps sounding behind him made Randolph look up in panic.

A black silhouette shot past Dimitri, their left arm coming out as a fist made contact with Randolph’s face. The man received an uppercut to the jaw, and didn't even make a sound before collapsing to the floor in a heap.

Dimitri was breathing audibly, looking up at his saviour. A masculine figure — but with his back to the orange streetlamps, he could only make out the loose messy bun of his hair and a short jacket glinting with a leather sheen. A hand was held out to Dimitri, and he took it.

"How did I know you'd get into trouble?"

Dimitri's stomach leapt, his heart seeming to stop in his chest as the bored, drawling voice met his ears.

 _"Felix?"_ he breathed. Once he was standing again, Dimitri could see the man's face; so hollow and drowned in shadow, cheekbones and jaw like knives in the darkness of the alleyway. But despite the split in his lips and the bandage on his neck, he didn't look as irritable and cruel as he usually did — no, tonight, Felix's face was kind: his eyes almost concerned.

"Are you okay?" he asked, taking both of Dimitri's hands in his and turning them so he could examine the other man's grazed palms. Despite the fiery glow of the streetlamps around them, small grazes and pinpricks of blood could be seen against Dimitri's pale skin; they began to burn slightly as the shock wore off.

Felix's hand came up to Dimitri's chin now, and he gently turned his face to view where he'd been hit. "Your nose isn't bleeding, so that's good."

Dimitri gave a small laugh, relief, fear, and adoration curdling within him. "Damn, Felix, what did you _do_ to him?"

His hand came around to Dimitri's jaw now, where his thumb stroked at the faint blonde stubble that threatened to emerge from beneath the skin. He didn’t answer.

"Where did you come from? What were you doing?" Dimitri had so many questions, but Felix had no responses. Instead, he chose to look into each of his eyes for a long moment as he wrapped his fingers around both of Dimitri’s hands. Dimitri held them back, about to speak again, but the dark-haired man reached up on his toes and made their lips connect.

 _Fuck,_ was the only word on Dimitri’s mind as he kissed back, feeling the warmth of Felix's lips — their hardness, their roughness. Yet something was softer about him tonight. There was passion in his kisses; his tongue gentle this time, abandoning the fervent lip-bites that Dimitri had experienced before. No — this kiss wasn't lustful, or vehement — instead it seemed almost… caring.

Felix broke away from Dimitri, placing his forehead against the other man's, breath hot on his lips. "You taste of lemonade." His voice was nothing more than a rumble in his throat. It stirred the pit of Dimitri's stomach.

"Yeah," he whispered back.

"I don't like lemonade." He took a step back, eyes smiling.

"Well, _I'm_ sorry," Dimitri said with a chuckle.

Felix's attention turned to the lifeless body on the floor. "Did I kill him?" he muttered absentmindedly, walking around where Randolph lay sprawled to bend down at his shoulder.

Dimitri couldn't help but stifle a giggle, still dazed by the kiss. "Uh, _could_ you have killed him?"

Felix cocked his head. "Yeah, probably." He picked up the guy's hand, placing two fingers upon his wrist to take a pulse. A painstaking couple of seconds passed. "No, he's alive." Felix dropped the wrist with no further consideration and stood. He gave a little kick into Randolph’s ribs with the toe of his boot before heading back to Dimitri.

"Should we… call an ambulance?" he asked, feeling ever-naïve.

Felix looked incredulous. "I'm not getting in trouble because of this dick. And neither are you. He'll call one when he wakes up, I'm sure."

"What if he doesn't?" Panic rose within Dimitri. "Doesn't wake up?"

"Then, that's his problem." Felix led him back down the alleyway and around a corner, where he stood against one wall, looking up at the taller man with those blank amber eyes. He removed a box from his pocket, then a lighter, and lit up a cigarette. After inhaling deeply, the action relieving him, he spoke. "What were you doing tonight, anyway?"

Dimitri's head was reeling, but he fought hard to concentrate on the question. What _was_ he out for? To celebrate — get drunk? Well… That wouldn't be honest. "Trying to hook up," Dimitri told him truthfully.

The Sword nodded and turned his head away, towards the road they stood by where cars flew past, lighting his face white and yellow and red. When he looked back at Dimitri, there was something different about him — something he'd never seen before. His eyelids were no longer irritable — now they were more open, and he looked Dimitri up and down as though it were for the first time. "And, what's your name?" he asked through the cigarette between his lips.

Dimitri could do nothing but blink at him. Something inside his chest began to panic; had Felix lost it? Was he going mad? First, he’d kissed Dimitri with the most passion he'd ever felt, and now he was asking for his name? "Wh-what?" Dimitri laughed uneasily as he spoke.

Felix clenched his jaw, eyes irritated. "I asked what your name was."

The blonde truly did let out a laugh now. "My name is _Dimitri_ ," he said slowly. "Blaiddyd? You know? Your Boar?" _Your Boar._ Sothis, how Dimitri wanted to be his.

"Oh." Felix narrowed his eyes. "That surname's from Fhirdiad, isn't it?"

"Yeah, my family used to live— Wait… How did you know that?" Dimitri had never told him about his childhood in Fhirdiad.

"I know a lot of things." Felix cocked his head, that strange expression still upon his face. He was almost smiling. "What were you planning to do after this?"

Dimitri looked at him incredulously. "Go home?"

"Ohh," he seemed to purr now, something dark behind his eyes. "Well, that's boring…" One of his hands came towards Dimitri, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that had fallen from his short ponytail. "Why don't you come back to my place?"

Dimitri's lips parted, brow furrowed in confusion. "I…" he managed before laughing out loud. "I thought you told me you'd never let me see your place!"

He cocked his head at Dimitri once more, with a face that said 'are you sure?'

That was when it hit Dimitri all at once. Felix still had his wits about him — hadn't lost his memory. Rather, he was playing a game; pretending he was a stranger. Asking for Dimitri's name, inviting him back to his place... Whatever this game was, it had started when Dimitri had mentioned a hook-up. Which meant…

"I'd love to," Dimitri said, unable to keep the grin off his face. He'd never done anything like this in his life.

"Good." Felix positively smiled now, his teeth — usually so hidden — on show. But, of course, this was Dimitri's first time meeting this man. He had no idea that smiling was such an uncommon occurrence for him. "My place isn't far." He stood upright from where he'd been leant against the wall, taking a drag of his cigarette in a way that looked so despicably sexy, and began to head down the street.

Dimitri followed at his tail. "Sorry, I never asked for your name," he told Felix. No, he was too busy concentrating on the fact that he was being taken home by the most gorgeous man he'd ever met — the one man he was so hopelessly head-over-heels for, that he’d tried to forget all about to no avail.

"Hugo," he replied in his cool, droning voice.

A shiver ran through Dimitri at that. "It's… a nice name," he said.

Hugo led Dimitri down the street, passing by countless storefronts closed for the night. Beneath the lights of the streetlamps and cars, Dimitri took the time to fully absorb the visage of this mysterious man.

He was wearing casual clothes again; long gone were the clothes he fought in, drenched with sweat and smeared with blood. Now he wore the exact same attire as usual. His hands, however, were still bandaged: bound by the yellowing wrappings, dried blood still smeared against the knuckles.

 _Aha_ , Dimitri thought with a smile. Now was as good a time as any to get some answers. "What are those bandages for?" he asked, watching the man's expression grow irritated.

"None of your business."

"Aw, c'mon, Hugo. You can tell me!"

The amber eyes narrowed, and Dimitri watched mysterious Hugo melt back into Felix before his very eyes; the annoyance was etched into his face, jaw tight. He hated when Dimitri paid any sort of attention to him.

"Was it from a fight?" Dimitri asked as they continued to head down the empty street. "You must have a short temper—"

Hugo turned suddenly, slamming his palm flat against the wall at Dimitri's side and pinning the taller man against it. "Am I going to regret my decision of bringing you home, Blaiddyd?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.

Every part of Dimitri wanted to shout _no_ , to shake his head and beg for forgiveness. But Dimitri didn’t know Hugo — didn't know the consequences of messing with this man. "I hope not." He wore a teasing grin, causing Hugo's nose to wrinkle with irritation.

He let go, but didn’t look happy as he returned the cigarette to his snarling lips. "Good."

The two continued down their path before they reached a place Dimitri recognised: the library. He always walked in this direction to reach the Training Grounds.

"So," he spoke loudly so as to be heard over the cars. "What do you do?"

Hugo kept his eyes on the road as he began to slow his pace, looking for a break in the traffic to allow them to cross to the other side. "What do I _do?"_

"Yeah." Dimitri watched the vehicles fly by. "Do you have a job?"

"Yeah, I have a job."

So, Hugo wasn't much different from Felix after all; quiet, secretive, and definitely not a talker. "Does it involve your bloody knuckles?"

His brow furrowed.

"What is it, something shady? Ooh, secret service? For the government—?"

"I'm not taking you home for small talk, Boar."

 _Boar_. Only Felix had that nickname for him. "Ohh, what _are_ you taking me home for, then? I don't know you, _Hugo_. You could be planning anything for me."

"I'll start by making sure you keep that mouth shut."

"I'd love to see you try."

Dimitri watched the man's chest rise and fall at his words, his shoulders growing tense. Dimitri had never acted in this way before; he hated cockiness, and had always been too submissive to tease anybody, but he was finding out that he _loved_ working this man up.

"How far away do you live, anyway?" he asked.

"If you're quiet, we'll get there a lot faster."

"You aren't one for talking, are you?" Dimitri asked, watching him shake his head in response. "Strange… You remind me of someone I know." Hugo's eyebrows wavered in annoyance. "I have a friend who hates talking, too."

"Sounds like a smart guy."

Dimitri laughed and left Hugo alone. Once they crossed the road, and the man began leading him down an all-too familiar alleyway, Dimitri felt confusion rise in his chest. This was the exact journey he took to get to the Training Grounds. The same side-streets and alleyways — the same confusing, winding path.

Only once they reached the Training Grounds’ door, and Hugo began to unlock it with a singular key, did Dimitri's stomach begin to twist. Was he frightened, or excited? It would be closed at this hour on a Monday, according to Sylvain, but would anybody be inside? Would they be caught? Why had Felix brought him here instead of to his actual house?

He had so many questions, each writhing around frantically in his head like mice trying to escape a trap. The questions truly were trapped, though; Dimitri couldn't break the façade — could not let his fright show, for fear it would anger Felix.

Or, rather, Hugo.

Instead, he entered the building, squinted as the dim lights were turned on, and took a good look around the musty stairwell. "Oh. Looks like a... nice place," he said, as if it was his first time here. As if he hadn't just been taken into a dingy, disgusting, illegal fighting ring.

Hugo locked the door behind them, saying nothing.

"Locking the door so I can't leave?"

"Enough of the talking," the man muttered, rounding on Dimitri and slowly backing him against the wall.

"And more of… what, exactly?" Dimitri felt his heart pound in his chest; there was no messing around — Hugo was getting straight down to business. Dimitri was almost unsure that he was ready. He'd never experienced anything of this sort before.

The familiar ' _hmph_ ' left the other man's throat — a grunt as he looked Dimitri up and down with his predator's eyes, glowing gold through the darkness of the hall. He took one more drag on his stubby cigarette before he extinguished it against the wall. "I don't play games, Dimitri."

Dimitri swallowed, inhaling the smoke, and mustered courage from somewhere deep. "Then what’s this, _Hugo_?" he hissed in response.

The shorter man pressed his body against Dimitri’s and forced his tongue between his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the incredible @_lazulila on Twitter!
> 
> https://twitter.com/_lazulila/status/1313573979840544774


	11. IX. just rolling with the rhythm

"Where did you come from, anyway?" Dimitri still panted slightly as he stood in the centre of the shower cubicle. He stepped clumsily into his underwear, beginning to dress himself once more.

"Hm?" Felix stood opposite him, the muscles of his back throwing beautiful shadows across his naked skin.

"Tonight. When you floored that guy."

Felix turned, an odd expression upon his face. He had only ever let Dimitri see his bare, unbound chest once before, but he reached out with a surprisingly gentle hand and tucked some of Dimitri’s loose blonde hair behind his ear. "You really think I'd trust you alone in a bar?"

Dimitri blinked at him, disbelieving. "You _followed_ me?"

Felix gave no expression — no response, merely making circular motions against Dimitri's scalp with his fingertips.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Are you my stalker?"

Felix shrugged. "Maybe so. Or, maybe I just want you safe." And he grabbed Dimitri's jacket from where it hung upon the back of the door, thrusting it at him. “Now fuck off.”

“Wait,” Dimitri said. One thing had been on his mind, eating away at him. “You said I needed to stop associating with you. You told me not to get attached. To leave you alone.”

Felix’s face was hard, unforgiving.

“And now it’s you looking out for me. Following me. Wanting me safe.”

His eyes fell to the floor. "Go on. Get out of here." He turned Dimitri around and patted him on the back, shoving him from their cubicle before locking the door behind him.

But Dimitri didn’t want to go. He stood silently for a few seconds, listening to the rustling of Felix changing back into his clothes. He turned and knocked lightly on the door.

“Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?” The response from inside drawled. It was only half a joke, Dimitri knew.

“I want you to join me,” he said.

A moment’s hesitation passed before Felix unlocked the door. He poked his face through the crack just slightly, with such an open and innocent expression it made Dimitri’s heart skip a beat. He looked almost like a child, filled with an apprehensive wonder before muttering, voice light and unguarded: “... What?”

Dimitri smiled gently at him. “Next Saturday I’m having a party at my family’s house.”

The irritated expression returned at once, eyes dimming and face clouding. “Oh, right.” Long gone was that childish wonderment; now Felix was as bitter and abrasive as ever as he spat a response. “And why should I care about that?”

Dimitri didn’t allow himself to be put off. “I want you to come.”

“Come to your party?” Felix smiled, raising a piteous eyebrow, and opened the cubicle door to reveal his top half now fully clothed. “What are you, 5?”

“I’ll be 22, actually.”

“It’s your birthday party? Oh, Goddess!” And he let out a positive laugh — a cheery and elated sound, but laced with something cold and remorseless. “Why, Boar, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He’d expected rejection, but not ridicule like this. It would almost have stung Dimitri were it not for the fact that he knew Felix capable of much, much crueller. But the dregs of his cockiness from the hour previous still sat at the bottom of his chest, and they rose up as he cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” Felix gave back, looking his Boar up and down with laughing eyes.

Dimitri stared dead into them as he gave his last proposition. “If you do, I’ll let you stay the night after.”

Silence reigned. Such a deafening quiet filled the room at once with a thick, stinking tension. He could almost see Felix’s hackles raise. his shoulders and jaw growing tight while his brow furrowed over dark eyes. At the sight, Dimitri’s pulse roared in his ears, excited.

“You’ll _let_ me?” Felix spat.

 _Aha._ Like a desperate, starving animal, he had snatched up the bait. Dimitri put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Only if you’re well-behaved.”

Felix’s eyes became flames. He stomped forwards at once and grasped the collar of Dimitri’s shirt in one firm, bruised fist. “I’ll show you _well-behaved_ , you fucking…” But his eyes flickered; almost uneasily, his brow lifted and his glance darted to Dimitri’s lips. He yanked his arm back towards himself, Dimitri staggered forwards, and Felix made their lips collide.

They kissed for a long, tense moment, with Dimitri’s hands hovering around the other man’s back, uncertain of whether or not to hold him. Before he got the chance, though, Felix pulled away, taking the heat and wetness of his surprisingly soft lips with him.

“I’ll come to your stupid party. But I’m not happy about it.” His eyes looked anywhere but Dimitri’s.

The blonde broke into a smile. “You don’t have to—”

“I said I would, alright?” He took a few paces backwards, back into the shelter of the shower cubicle, to where his pants sat in a puddle on the floor. “Now, seriously, get the fuck out of here.”

Dimitri’s smile grew wider and he returned his hands to his pockets. He knew there was no point in speaking further; Felix would lose his temper. Thus, he left the room.

He had almost witnessed that mysterious man’s barrier shatter tonight; he allowed himself to consider that as progress. As he opened the door to the Training Grounds once again — the sensation now seemingly as familiar as tying his own shoelaces — he breathed in the polluted night air.

He pulled out his phone, and found Felix’s name.

 _ > It’s on the 20th of the Ethereal Moon_, he texted, followed by the address of his family’s summer house in Garreg Mach. _It’ll start at 9pm. Still interested?_

The response he received was immediate.

> _didnt we just have this conversation, boar? get lost and go home_

Dimitri smiled and headed back down the alleyway, only for his phone to buzz in his hand a moment later.

_ > and yeah fuck it ill be there _

His heart grew warm. Despite it, though, he still didn’t quite understand; what were these mixed signals? Why had Felix exploded a few days ago, warning Dimitri to distance himself, only to come back to him? Felix assuredly did not like him — he had _told_ him he didn’t want anything to do with him. If he didn’t like him, he certainly didn’t want to be with him. Their hook-ups were the most Dimitri could ever hope for, and even then, he didn’t ever anticipate another.

So, why _oh why_ was he acting in this way?

Dimitri shook his head. He was thankful that Felix wanted to associate with him in any way at all. After the events that had unfolded the last time they’d met, there was no use thinking about anything more than that.

There was a plus side, though. He had done it. At long last, Dimitri had invited the Meandering Sword to his party. Sylvain would be delighted. As he returned to his dormitory, he found each corridor dark and his bedroom door locked. Checking his phone as he retrieved his keys from his pocket, he found the time to be _03:27._ No wonder the corridor was asleep.

As he slipped into the room, trying his best to be quiet, he heard a mutter.

“Dima…?” slurred Sylvain.

“It’s only me,” Dimitri whispered back. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmf,” was the reply. “Where were you?”

Dimitri kicked off his shoes and fumbled through the dark until he found his bed. He sat on it. “I’ve got good news.”

“Wassat?”

“... The Meandering Sword is coming to the party.”

The sound of sheets being thrown back, the blaring flash of the bedside lamp being switched on. Sylvain’s pristine white teeth shining out from beneath the largest smile. _“What!?”_


	12. X. the rhythm and rhyme collide

Why did this make Dimitri so nervous?

He’d participated in seemingly hundreds of parties before — birthdays growing up, his parents hosting celebrations, countless small house parties in university. This was nothing new — nothing spectacular — and yet Dimitri’s heart had begun to palpitate.

He hoped he looked good. The black velvet suit and sleek matching tie his father had given him apparently made him look ‘dashing’, if Sylvain’s judgment was to be trusted. It didn’t make him feel any less anxious, though.

Standing outside of his family’s summer home, hearing the soft sound of the music within, Dimitri felt the bass pounding through his body as it had that one night in the club. Yet now, the bass seemed less like a headache-inducing pulse, and more like a death toll.

It felt dolorous. Counting down the seconds until his inevitable demise—

“Boar.”

The word cut through the music and silenced it. As Dimitri turned, eyes wide and heart threatening to burst from between his ribs, the world crumbled around him. The manor dissipated, the coloured lights from inside fading like dust catching upon the wind.

Illuminated by moonlight, Felix stood in a deep, midnight-blue suit that matched the sky above him perfectly. His shirt was white, and the tie fastened tight beneath his collar was the same as his suit. His hands were in his pockets, and his hair…

The breeze tousled it slightly, but his hair fell loose across his shoulders and down to his chest. Dimitri had only seen Felix with his hair down one other time, in the morning after they’d visited  _ Oghma. _ He stared, his heart skipping beats and threatening to pound out of his chest, and Felix’s amber eyes flickered away.

“What are you staring at me for?” he asked, and a nervous waver lined it in a way Dimitri had never heard before.

When he answered, he answered honestly, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could control them. “You’re beautiful.”

Felix’s eyes met his and widened slightly. He looked almost touched; if his pale cheeks could blush, Dimitri suspected they would. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

It seemed the incident of Felix screaming at him outside the Training Grounds had been truly forgotten now. Swept away by their second night of lust and in the multiple text conversations they’d had since.

Dimitri’s feet closed the gap between them, taking him forward until he stood over the other man. Thoughts circled in his heads like ravenous vultures, each one pecking at him to spill his desires and let Felix know how he felt. He  _ was _ beautiful. Not only physically, but he was talented and humorous, suave and daring. Even his cockiness, attitude, and infuriating stubbornness were things Dimitri found he liked.

They were things he found he loved.

The vultures of his mind urged him onwards, made his lips part and his eyes blink hurriedly and made him take Felix’s hands gently in his own.

“Felix, I…”

_ … love you. Say it — be out with it. You’re utterly, hopelessly in love with him. You want to be with him — you want to be his. You want him to be yours— _

“What?” Felix snapped at him, evidently bored of waiting. His eyes flicked sideways, giving him an air of anxiousness. “Can we go in now? It’s fucking freezing.”

_ Gone. _

The moment had too been blown away in the breeze; it dissolved into the air to be replaced with the party’s lights, silhouette of the manor, and dull pounding bass of the music inside.

“Y-yes, of course,” Dimitri found himself saying, hearing the vultures screech in protest. He willed them away, well-aware that he’d missed his chance. Felix snatched his hands out from Dimitri’s own, and the two began walking towards the manor.

“You’re so weird,” Felix huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as they passed the threshold, heading past the huge oaken doors into the party beyond.

Most of it was being held in the foyer, with its sleek marble floor and walls reflecting the fluorescent rainbow light bulbs all around them. 

Dimitri’s friends seemed to be enjoying themselves, he found with relief. Most of them stood talking, with some choosing to stand by the many tables of food and drink, helping themselves. Others sat on some of the plush blue sofas that lined the room, chattering and laughing, with some even dancing in the centre around the fountain: the fountain of a marble lioness, rearing with claws poised to pounce, a stream of crystalline water erupting from her mouth.

_ “Fuck,” _ Felix breathed. Dimitri wasn’t sure whether his remark was irritated or awed; he suspected the former, given Felix’s aversion to wealth.

“Oh my Goddess!” Dimitri then heard, and he turned upon entering the foyer to see that his dormmates, Ingrid and Sylvain, had run towards them. Sylvain had been the one to exclaim; his expression of utter elation showed he was both happy and disbelieving to see Felix by Dimitri’s side.  _ “Sothis, _ I didn’t actually believe you, Dimitri!”

“What was that?” Felix murmured, his thin lips curling into a smile.

“Is this the Meandering Sword guy?” asked Ingrid.

“Sure is! In the flesh!” Sylvain fawned. He beheld Felix with the face of an excitable child, and held his hand out stupidly towards him. “Oh, I’m Sylvain. Gautier. I’ve watched almost all of your fights! It’s amazing to meet you!”

Felix did not take his hand. “Oh, yeah. I recognise you,” he drawled, but the dark smirk behind his eyes made Dimitri’s stomach turn. That smirk  _ never _ meant anything good.

“Y-you do!?” Sylvain beamed.

“Yeah. You made a pass at Leonie one time, didn’t you?”

“Leonie...?”

“Yeaaah,” purred Felix. “Pinelli. The Blade Breaker. Red-haired, just like you.”

Sylvain’s face fell. “Oh, uh… I’m not sure I remember making any passes at her—”

“You don’t?” Felix’s smile attempted murder. He took a step forward, and Sylvain took one back, face alight with fear. “Oh, I’ll  _ make _ you remember—”

“Okay!” Dimitri grabbed ahold of Felix’s arms while Ingrid burst into laughter at his side.

“Oh, Sylvain, that sounds  _ just _ like you!” she said through giggles.

Sylvain’s hands were held up in surrender while Dimitri wrestled Felix backwards. “Mr. Sword, I’m so sorry if I—”

“Don’t apologise to  _ me!” _ Felix spat. “And,  _ Sothis _ , don’t ever call me that.”

Dimitri jumped in, desperate to change the subject. If he loved this man — admitting it to himself still made him feel woozy — he did not want him arguing constantly with his best friends. “What  _ should _ they call you, then?”

Felix regarded him with his irritated eyes, looking Sylvain up and down. “Fraldarius.”

_ Of course. So cold. _

“Huh, Fraldarius…” Ingrid blinked at Felix, face clouding. “Do you have a brother called Glenn?”

Sylvain’s face became confused too, although his confoundment was directed at Ingrid. “Like, your ex-boyfriend Glenn?”

Felix bristled in the same way he had all those weeks ago, when Dimitri had asked him the same question. “Why do you people keep  _ insisting _ I know this Glenn guy!?” he snapped. His shoulders grew tight, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Goddess, I should never have come to this fucking shitshow.”

Dimitri chuckled. “Oh, my party isn’t  _ that _ bad, is it?”

Sylvain seemed content to change the subject. “Nah, nah! It’s great so far! Well,” and he gestured around, “everyone else seems to be enjoying it, anyway.”

“Annette’s certainly enjoying the chocolate fountain,” grinned Ingrid.

Dimitri looked over her shoulder to a food table, where Annette clung to Mercedes’ elbow with one hand, the other dipping strawberries into the little waterfall of melted chocolate. “Why don’t I introduce you to everyone?” He looked down to Felix.

To his surprise, the shorter man shrugged. “Sure.”

Before they could leave, however, Ingrid let out a chuckle. “Oh, man, I’ve just noticed.”

“What?” asked Dimitri.

“You’re a fighter, right Fraldarius?”

Felix frowned. “You could say that.”

And Ingrid laughed once more, pointing to where he and Dimitri stood side-by-side. “Look at you two! Black and blue!” she exclaimed. “Like a bruise!”

Dimitri looked down at his suit, the handsome black velvet matching the deep blue of Felix’s own in an almost complimentary way. It brought him a sort of childish glee to notice.

“Story of my life,” Felix growled to Ingrid under his breath. “C’mon. Let’s go.” And he led Dimitri off into the centre of the room.

The birthday boy scoured the room for his closest friends, looking around for the familiar form of Dedue. “Ah,” he then said, spotting the dusty hair of Ashe through the crowd upon the dancefloor. “I can see—”

“Shut it.” Felix grabbed hold of his arm suddenly, planting his feet against the floor. “You don’t actually think I care about meeting your friends, do you?”

Dimitri’s heart sank. “You don’t?”

“Of course I fucking don’t. I just wanted to get away from those idiots.”

His words were scalding, startling Dimitri into widening his eyes. Would Felix ever utter a nice word? All the same, he smiled and shook his head. “I should’ve expected no less.”

“Damn right,” Felix grumbled, eyes scouring one of the food tables to his left.

It didn’t go unnoticed. “Want to grab a bite to eat?” Dimitri offered.

“Do I fuck,” came the response.

And Dimitri was at a loss. “Why are you here?” he asked, plain and simple. Everything so far had seemed to displease him.

“I don’t know, really,” Felix mumbled in response. “I should go—”

“No!” Dimitri grasped hold of his arms now, watching the glow of warning flicker in those amber eyes. “Sorry, I just… don’t want you to go.”

Felix considered him for a moment, cocking his head slightly in the way a predator would analyse its prey. After a second of silent deliberation, his lips curled in a snarl. “Then entertain me.”

“... Would you like a full tour?”

“What, of your  _ space station _ of a house?” Felix snapped back, hackles raised. “Are you  _ trying _ to rub it in?”

Dimitri simply looked at him with saddened eyes.

After a second, Felix took a breath, held it, and released it. “Yes. I  _ guess _ I’d like a tour.”

“That’s a nicer response,” Dimitri said. He held out a hand for Felix to take instinctually. Yet to his surprise, Felix took it, slipping his chilly fingers around Dimitri’s palm and holding tight. It sent fireworks through his veins. He took them through a closed door, into the rest of the house that the party couldn’t reach.

“Sorry, I’m, uh…” Felix looked to the floor as he spoke, and allowed Dimitri to guide him through the corridor lined with ornamental vases. “I’m trying to work on being less mean.”

Dimitri laughed aloud, the sound echoing through the hallway. 

“What!? What’s so funny about that!?”

“Your entire  _ brand _ is mean, Felix.”

Through the low light, Felix’s scowl was visible. “Yeah, well, I’m working on it.”

The taller of the two men weaved his way through the hallways, ever-conscious of how large his parents’ summer house was. It was perhaps only a quarter of the size of his true home back in Fhirdiad, but even so it was a mansion. It was where Dimitri had spent his summers growing up, though, and he loved it. He knew no different. It made Dimitri decide, however, that he didn’t want to show off how much of a  _ ‘space station’ _ the house was: instead, he led them to the staircase, and began working his way to his bedroom.

“This place is fucking huge,” Felix simply said, voice sounding lost amidst the echoes of their footsteps on the marble stairs.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Should be. Shit’s sickening.”

As usual, Dimitri didn’t know whether Felix was joking or not. His sense of humour, where existent, was dry. He decided not to laugh either way; the memories of their date at  _ Oghma _ came back to him — seeing Felix’s shabby wallet and watching him visibly panic upon looking inside. The one pair of jeans he owned — the faded black denim with countless rips — and the dangerous profession he’d taken up…

Dimitri wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, whether Felix was okay. Whether he was at least financially stable. He didn’t know how to voice such concerns without sounding insensitive. “What was your childhood home like?” he simply asked.

Felix was quiet, eyes fixed on his shoes — supple leather loafers. “In a way, I guess… not much different from this.”

_ What? _ That made Dimitri’s mind reel: he had anticipated Felix to state the opposite. Had expected him to be — for lack of a better word — poor. “R-really?” he asked.

A heavy shrug. “That’s why it repulses me so much.”

His tone was so closed-off, so almost sad, that Dimitri decided to stop asking. He reached the dark oaken door of his destination, polished to shining, and pushed it open.

Inside was his old bedroom — his childhood. The place he’d spent twenty-one summers in, even after moving further into the city to attend university. The sight was ingrained into his mind — so familiar that he scarcely registered the sight of it anymore. Granted, it was dark — the only things visible within were the silhouette of his four-poster bed and wardrobe next to it — but as he reached to turn on the light, Felix stopped him.

“Don’t.” And he led them inside. Once they both stood, shoes sinking into the plush carpet beneath, Felix closed the door and enveloped them in blackness.

Without the glow of the lightbulbs from the doorway, nothing could be seen. On the closest wall, Dimitri’s heavy, floor-length curtains were closed tight.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” Felix murmured into the dark.

“You are?”

“Duh. I wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

_ Still needs to work on his meanness. _ Dimitri chuckled. “Why?”

There was silence for a long time. It was unnerving; being in the pitch dark, in a part of the house so far away from the party that the music wasn’t even audible anymore, unable to see the person he was speaking to. When at last Felix spoke, he was quiet. “I got you a birthday present.”

Dimitri felt sparks fly throughout his every nerve, heart rate spiking. He swallowed, unsure of what Felix meant, and sidled over to the wall, pushing open his curtain just a crack to allow a sliver of moonlight into the room. It fell upon Felix’s face and illuminated him — sharp, angular perfection. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” Dimitri told him.

“I know. I wanted to.” Felix’s expression beneath the moonbeam was serious — frighteningly so. He blinked slowly up at Dimitri, no hint of malice or mocking hidden beneath his glowing golden eyes, and his lips parted slightly. As if he wanted to say more.

“Then, I won’t refuse.” Dimitri didn’t know why he’d found himself whispering, but it seemed only appropriate.

Felix reached up onto the tips of his toes and pressed his lips lightly against Dimitri’s own. That one kiss held an entire world of passion — an uncharted land of unspoken confessions and buried emotions. They kissed one another as if their lives depended on it — as if frightened to break away — for if they parted, they would surely be torn apart from each other.

Their fervour unfolded before them like never before. Felix was not rushing, nor violent, nor even hungry; he seemed only to want Dimitri. For who he was — wanting his love instead of his body.

That was how it felt to Dimitri, anyway. And he felt the same.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed before they found themselves embracing beneath his childhood bed covers, breathless and connected. Perhaps their love had unfolded for hours, or for only a few mere minutes. Dimitri couldn’t say, for the moment had felt so endless. So perfect. They lay together silently, listening to the hot breaths they panted upon one another's skin.

Dimitri had just started to believe Felix had drifted off to sleep before he spoke.

“Happy birthday.” His voice was no more than a murmur into the dark, but his words were so powerful, making Dimitri shudder.

“Thank you,” he whispered back, but he wanted to ask more. What did that mean? Was Felix’s gift to him the kiss, or the passion that had taken place afterwards? Or was he admitting to something more?

Something… like love?

Was that why he had interrupted Dimitri outside before, when he had been about to confess? For he wanted to express it first, in some way or another?

Far from being relaxed, Dimitri’s mind reeled. He was happy. But so, so confused.

“You should probably get back to the party,” Felix told him, something a little cruel lining his voice.

“Probably,” Dimitri sighed. “I don’t want to face it alone, though.”

“Too bad. I’m staying here. Your childhood bedroom is cute as fuck.”

The moonlight breaking through the curtains illuminated one wall; upon it hung memorabilia from Dimitri’s childhood crazes: a poster of his old favourite band  _ The Mittelfranks, _ action figures standing upon the chest of drawers of his favourite superhero  _ The Immaculate One. _ A portrait of his family’s ancestor Loog, as well as a plaque of their family’s crest. It was thoroughly embarrassing. “Sh… shut up.”

Yet he didn’t make a move. Instead of getting up, dressed, and heading down to his own party, he rolled over and wrapped his arm around Felix. Felix didn’t protest — he nuzzled in closer. He muttered into Dimitri’s chest.

“I need to get out of the Training Grounds.”

Those few words were like ice from Felix’s lips, making a chill crackle down Dimitri’s spine. In those few words, his suspicions were confirmed. The conversation he’d overheard — Felix promising he’d leave; his attempt to push Dimitri away;  _ “you shouldn’t want anything to do with me”. _

“Well?” Dimitri leaned back, worry consuming him, and looked deep into Felix’s eyes. “Why don’t you?”

Felix simply sighed in response before sitting up, slipping out of the bed. He threw Dimitri’s shirt at him, and then his blazer. “Get dressed. Go back to your fucking party.” Yet he didn’t sound angry, merely tired.

“Felix?” Dimitri, on the other hand, was almost incredulous. “Why don’t you leave if you don’t want to be there!?”

“It’s not as simple as that.” The eyes that met his seemed to hold the weight of the world within them: exhausted, and empty. “Now, are you gonna let me stay the night here, or what?”


	13. trying not to break but i'm so tired of this deceit

Felix placed the suit, neatly folded inside its plastic bag, on the counter.

“So, you rented this…” The clerk muttered to herself, tossing one of her bright pink pigtails over her shoulder before ringing him up. “Did you have a good night in it? Or was it for an interview, maybe...?”

“Mm, yeah. Was alright.” His mind was elsewhere.

He had missed a fight for it.

At the time, walking to Dimitri’s party yesterday evening, it had seemed a stroke of rebellion — a proud feeling in his chest, of finally denying an oppressive parent. Not showing up to the fight would show who was  _ really _ boss.

That was not how it worked, though. He knew that. He knew that any rebellious thoughts were merely naïve — the stupid, excitable dares of a child about to get in a lot of trouble. He  _ knew _ that.

And now, he knew he would have to pay.

Trudging back to the Training Grounds when it was still bright outside was strange — clouds like popcorn, white and fluffy, against a blue sky the same incredible hue as Dimitri Blaiddyd’s eyes—

He sighed.

Dimitri Fucking Blaiddyd. If it wasn’t for that loser — that boar of a human — Felix could simply get on with his miserable life, happy as could be. Alas, that clumsy, oblivious, childish fool had somehow ensnared his heart with those big puppy eyes and that gorgeous blonde hair tied back into the most endearing messy ponytail.

_ Ugh. _

Unlocking the door to the Training Grounds, Felix descended the steps as if walking the six feet down to his grave, with an almost paralysing feeling of dread flooding his body.

He wondered whether he would make it out of this encounter with the Boss alive. Before he stepped back into the locker room, sure to meet his demise, he pulled out his phone. Squinting through the cracks on the screen, he found the name he was looking for:

_ boar  _ 🐗

And he began to text.

_ > you big fool. meet me outside that hideous restaurant you took me to at 12 tomorrow afternoon. if i dont show up within twenty minutes then go home. chances are ive forgotten. _

And he stuffed his phone back into his jeans, heart pounding with fear.

If he didn’t show up within twenty minutes, chances were he’d be dead.


	14. XI. guessing that it’s better i can’t keep myself together

Dimitri stood outside  _ Oghma, _ smile so wide upon his cheeks that his muscles had begun to ache. He glanced down at his watch, its luminous screen displaying the text from Felix he’d received yesterday.

_ A date? _ Meeting outside a restaurant at noon could only mean one thing, surely. A lunch date. Given their last meeting, their adoration unfurling beneath the sheets, Dimitri at least felt justified in his high hopes for this situation.

He still had to address what the hell had happened, though. Felix’s transformation from hating his guts, to saving his life, to making love to him had been wordless. Whenever Dimitri had come close to addressing his feelings, Felix had stopped it.

He could not help but wonder what was going on inside that beautiful, grumpy, complicated mind of his. Whether he considered Dimitri as more than a hook-up now. He felt silly — a teenager, fretting over a boy and whether they were an  _ item _ or not — but Felix had never voiced any sort of positive feelings towards him. So what more could Dimitri do other than wonder? Deep down, he hoped that Felix wanted him; he craved more than anything to belong to the dark, mysterious fighter, but how could he know what Felix’s intentions were?

He just hoped this meeting would settle things. No wonder he was so excited.

Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, Felix strode down the street towards him. After the initial butterflies that emerged every time he saw that silhouette, Dimitri’s heart fell.

What… had happened?

It had only been a day. One stupid day — a Sunday. So why was Felix’s eye such a mess? Red and purple and swollen shut with bruises so large they looked like golf balls? Why was his stride — once so confident and assertive — marred by a limp? He still looked defiant, with chin held high and chest pushed forward, but he looked ruined.

Dimitri ran the rest of the distance towards him, clutching onto his arms at once with panic. “What the hell happened!? I thought you told me you didn’t fight on Sund—!?”

“Get off me,” Felix pulled himself out of Dimitri’s grip. But he had stopped walking all the same. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine,” Dimitri fretted, “I asked what happened.”

Felix regarded him for a moment through his one open eye, giving him a hard look. When at last he sighed, he grabbed Dimitri by the collar and kissed him. While short, the kiss was soft — filled with the same heartfelt adoration he had felt at his party. A good sign.

And when they broke away, Felix gave him a look that seemed to say  _ ‘stupid boar’ _ before they continued to walk. “Would you believe it?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his every word. “I got in a fight.”

“They fucked you up,” Dimitri simply said.

Felix growled. “Don’t remind me.”

As they reached the door of  _ Oghma, _ Felix made for its handle but Dimitri blocked him off. “Who was it with?” he asked, hating how anxious his voice sounded.

“It’s got nothing to do with you. Keep your stupid handsome nose out—”

“But,  _ does _ it have to do with me?”

Dimitri had done it. Felix’s good eye shot daggers into him, but he stood his ground. He had spoken their unspoken rule:  _ don’t fucking mention the night he yelled at you. _

And yet Dimitri couldn’t help himself. That day had been his rock bottom. A day that had left him feeling so empty and alone that he had almost turned to drink in an attempt to forget. A rejection so volatile it had ended with shouting, and a demand to never near the Training Grounds again. That had all disappeared, blown away as easily as dust could be cleaned from an untouched book, once Felix had shown up to rescue Dimitri from his attacker. They had pretended it had never happened.

But it had. And it had for a reason.

“Why did you want me to stay away from you?” Dimitri asked, voice beginning to shake. He realised, heart swollen with anxiety, that he was scared. Scared not of Felix’s reaction, but for his safety. “Why did you say you didn’t want anything to do with me?”

Felix looked appalled: as if he couldn’t believe such words were being spoken. It was evident that he’d thought of his actions since as repentance — brushing his previous shouting under the rug. But Dimitri needed more — needed assurance.

“What does it matter?” Felix asked, voice hoarse.

“It matters because I  _ know.” _ At his words, Felix looked scared. “I overheard you speaking to someone in the Grounds the second time I met you. Arguing with them, really. You promised them you’d leave. But then, in my bedroom, you said it wasn’t that simple.”

“Yeah,” the fighter whispered, “it’s not.”

“Why do you want to leave, Felix? Are you in danger?”

He didn’t respond. For only the second time — the first being in the morning of their hotel escapade — Felix looked vulnerable. With his non-swollen eye wide, eyebrows almost sad, he let his lips part momentarily before sighing. “Can we talk about this inside?” he asked, finally moving around Dimitri to get at the door again.

And for the second time, he was blocked. This time, Dimitri placed a gentle hand on his upper arm, and felt Felix flinch beneath it. “You can’t go in there with your eye like that,” he said delicately. “We’d probably get thrown out.”

“That’s what happens when you eat at bougie scum places,” Felix muttered back. It made Dimitri chuckle aloud. “Let me take you somewhere more my style.”

Felix led them both through the city of Garreg Mach with their hands interlaced. For once, he didn’t seem embarrassed or annoyed at displaying affection — he seemed almost content. And yet, he was quiet. Not in his normal stoic silent way, but pensive: quelled. As though the fire had gone out of him to be replaced by humble smoking embers, still and sombre.

They received stares as they wound their way through the city, but Felix was blind to them. Perhaps he was used to them. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care, too consumed by something else.

He led them to a fast food place. One that Sylvain, as well as perhaps every other university student in the city, was fond of.  _ Almyra Fried Chicken _ stood before them, its colour scheme a violent yellow and green combination.

Dimitri had visited Almyra in his youth. It had been a stunning country, filled with the most exquisite architecture, breathtaking landmarks, and a political history so enthralling Dimitri could sit and read about it for days.

_ Almyra Fried Chicken, _ however, did not represent that country. He had a feeling that the founder of this chain restaurant had never set foot in Almyra in their life. The inside of the building smelled so strongly of frying oils and grease that he wrinkled his nose, and screaming children ran about the seating area, chasing one another with plastic toys. The fact that  _ this _ was what most civilians would think of when told about Almyra sickened him.

Needless to say, Felix’s black eye was not glanced at once amidst the chaos.

Felix led him to the counter. “See? Much more my style,” he said, before ordering a Flamin’ Hot Chicken Burger meal for 10 Gold. The meals were so  _ cheap!  _ Surely they couldn’t be healthy. Dimitri swallowed his worries and ordered the same.

“Copying me?” Felix asked as they waited, the faintest of smirks upon his lips.

“Well, there’s no point in me trying to find something I’ll like,” he muttered back.

“Oh yeah, can’t taste,” Felix said almost dismissively. “For a second, I thought you were disappointed by my restaurant of choice.”

_ That _ was a joke — Dimitri knew for certain. He looked around himself; the restaurant was filled to the brim with guests, with staff dashing about cleaning up after them. Not a single person paid any attention to the two young men waiting to one side, tucked away in a corner.

And so he leant down, stealing a kiss from Felix’s lips.

An adorable chuckle met his ears as he did. “Fuck off.”

It felt so good. It felt so  _ right. _ Dimitri wanted this.

“Two Flamin’ Hot meals?” a server called from behind the counter, and Felix stepped up to grab the tray.

They found an empty booth by the wall. Once they’d both sat down and bickered slightly over Dimitri’s repulsion at how sticky the table was, they got to eating. While he had no sense of taste, Dimitri could feel the ‘flamin’ heat’ upon his tongue; it was unpleasant. It burned his tongue and made him feel as if he’d inhaled fire. Why would anyone enjoy it? From the sight of Felix wolfing his down, however, he kept his aversion quiet.

Instead, he started a conversation. “So, about leaving the Training—”

“Shut  _ up. _ ”

Dimitri was startled into silence.

“Not so loud. You know my job isn’t exactly…” And he looked around himself.

“Legal…?” Dimitri offered.

“Yeah. That.”

“Gotcha.” Dimitri found himself blushing — he was always so _ oblivious. _

They finished their meals before Felix spoke up again. “How much did you overhear me shouting at that guy?”

“I’m not sure. You just said you’d leave, and he said he’d like to see you try.”

“Not all of it, then.”

“How much more was there to hear?”

Felix looked strained, as though he wanted to say a thousand words but had to bite his tongue. He pushed the fast food tray to the side and reached his hand across the table. Dimitri held onto it and felt those strong, slender fingers squeeze his in return. After an anxious glance around them — they sat in a booth against one wall, the only people around them chattering diners — Felix took a breath.

“It’s a contract,” he said in a hushed voice, as if that would make anything clearer.

Dimitri made a face of shock despite having no idea what that meant. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s only a verbal one, but I’d be fucked if I broke it.” Felix squeezed his hand more. “Well, I guess I did break it.”

And then it made sense. “Oh, Felix, what’s not why…?” And he gestured to the swollen eye.

A pained smile crossed his lips. “I was meant to be fighting the night of your party.”

His blood ran cold. _Felix always fights on Saturdays._ _“No.”_

“It was better than fighting some ugly sweaty guy.”

“Why would you do that for me!?” Dimitri’s voice was a hiss, trying to shout whilst also keeping his volume low. Tears rose to his eyes. “I didn’t even think you  _ liked _ me, but you were willing to put yourself in danger for me? For my  _ party? _ Why would you do that!?”

The other man looked down at the table. “Guess I like you more than you think.”

All Dimitri could do was blink in response. Tears fell down his cheeks.

“Anyway. Ew. Enough of that.” Felix untangled their fingers and moved his hand back down to his lap. “I can find a way out of it, I’m sure.”

“Can you, though?”

“Sure I ca— wait. Are you  _ crying?” _

Dimitri wiped his tears away hastily.

“Sothis, you sad-sack. What’s up with you this time?”

_ Nothing! I’m fine!  _ was what his brain urged him to say. But, for whatever reason, Dimitri couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t want us to lie to each other anymore.” Felix did not respond to that. “I’m crying because... why would you do that, Felix? Put yourself at risk to come to my stupid birthday party?”

His jaw hardened. “You say we aren’t lying to each other anymore?”

“Please.”

And he exhaled. “Because all that time ago, when you told me you wanted to be my friend, it freaked me out. You’re the first person who ever wanted me for  _ me. _ I’ve been borderline-stalked before — had creeps and fans follow me and try to get to know me for their own weird self-indulgent reasons. But, you?  _ You? _ You clueless fucking boar?” He took a breath, one which audibly shook. “You actually cared about me. You wanted to know me. The  _ real _ me, not just the fighter. I’ve never had that before.”

Dimitri let his tears fall freely.

“So, yeah. I like you.” Felix’s eyes darted away. “In a way I’ve never really felt about anyone else before.”

“Felix…”

“Why else do you think I called myself  _ Hugo _ that night? I had no fucking idea how to process how I felt about you. I thought pretending I was someone else might’ve… I dunno. Stopped me catching feelings, or something.”

A smile was working its way slowly across Dimitri’s lips. “Did it work?”

“No.” Felix waited a moment before shifting in his seat. “Just… Shut up about it, alright?”

Dimitri let a laugh escape, his mind reeling. An ecstasy filled him, making his body feel as if it were floating — his heart threatening to pound from his chest. He was so frightened, so worried about Felix’s safety, but hearing those words from his lips made his head spin.

Felix looked around. “Are we really having this conversation in  _ Almyra Fried Chicken...?”  _ he asked.

Dimitri laughed so hard he sobbed.


	15. XII. taken far from my safety

_ Felix always fights on Saturdays. _

Dimitri reached the Training Grounds early. The sun had not yet set, and Garreg Mach was a bustle of rush-hour traffic. The sounds of tires screeching, car horns blasting, and pedestrians shouting matched the inside of his head perfectly: a confused flurry of different thoughts. He’d done it: he’d made a plan; Felix wouldn’t have to suffer the wrath of the fighting pit any longer.

Reaching the metal door, the grey paint of which was visibly peeling to reveal the orange rust beneath, Dimitri knocked upon it. After all of his visits here now, he had picked up on the special rhythm to the knock that he could only suspect indicated “I know this is an illegal fighting ring and I promise I’m not a cop.” The short series of raps showed trust, and knowledge, and a silent vow of secrecy.

Sure enough, the door opened at the rhythm. The huge man behind peered out at him through suspicious eyes, only to have them narrow into something smug upon locking onto him.

“Why, if it isn’t Pretty Boy!” he said, opening the door wide. “Come on in, come on in!”

“Hello,” Dimitri responded politely.  _ Pretty Boy…? _ He reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet.

“Oh, no,” the bouncer said, welcoming him inside. “No, Pretty Boy doesn’t need to pay!”

“Um.” Dimitri did not like that. He did not  _ trust _ it. “May I ask why?”

“Well, you're the Sword’s toy, aren’t you?”

“Toy…?” Oh, Dimitri did  _ not _ like this.

“Go on. Go and find him. He’ll probably be in the locker room.” The bouncer gave him the smallest of shoves, making him stumble down the steps, and closed the door behind him.

Dimitri put his wallet back into his pocket, apprehensive. “Th-thank you,” he said, not really knowing why.

He descended the stairs, thoughts circling in his mind, and crossed absentmindedly to the locker room. Pretty Boy? Felix’s  _ toy? _ The sneering, demeaning tone of the bouncer? Why did he feel like the butt of some big joke he wasn’t in on?

He reached the door of the locker room — the door he’d first seen Felix come out of all those weeks ago. The door the fighter had emerged from when shouting that he’d escape. The door he’d led Dimitri through under the guise of Hugo, when he’d been infatuated but hadn’t known how to handle it.

Dimitri, no matter how confused and perturbed he was, couldn’t resist smiling at that memory.

He had only seen the inside of this room once before, but that had been in the dark. Back then, it had looked as mysterious as Felix himself; cold, clinical, with sharp edges lining every wall. With the lights on, however, throwing a sickly yellow glow around the room, it was horrific. Cracked tiles lay underfoot, brown stains besmirching them here and there. Peeling grey lockers sat against the back wall behind a long bench, with the shower cubicles to one side. It smelled dank, of sweat and fusty old water.

And it was empty. Dimitri stepped in slowly, the door clanging shut behind him, before he called out.

“Hello…?”

He heard footsteps at once. They sounded fast — frantic against the tiles — before Felix came into view from behind an open doorway in one corner.

“Dimitri!?” His face was shocked. Disbelieving. His left eye looked better, now open with an ebbing brown bruise around it instead of the nasty swollen skin he'd last been seen with. He wore his usual, non-fighting attire. Same black jeans. Same black jacket. He looked beautiful.

“Hi!” Dimitri chirped.

“The  _ fuck _ are you doing here?” Felix approached him with a face like thunder.

_ Oh. Right. _ Dimitri smiled. He had spent the whole week planning, forgoing studying for his winter exams to be consumed by the plague that had hung over his head since their meeting in the fast food place. 

“I’ve got an idea,” he said happily, “of how to get you out—!”

A hand was slapped against his face, over his nose and lips, so hard he saw stars. Felix was covering his mouth, and the eyes he locked onto Dimitri with were crazed — wild, frantic, and painfully desperate.

“You can  _ not _ fucking be here, Dimitri.” It was not a statement; it was a demand.

“Wh… why not?” Dimitri spoke into Felix’s hand.

After lowering it, allowing Dimitri to rub his jaw, Felix spoke through his teeth. His words were so quiet Dimitri had to strain to hear, but they were as clear as anything. “Because. I am on thin fucking ice after your Goddess-forsaken party last week.”

“Still…? I thought they'd already punished you.”

After a frustrated glare, Felix continued. “Don’t you see!?  _ You’re _ the danger, Dimitri!  _ You’re _ the reason I got that black eye! Why I missed last week’s fight, and why I’ve been spending less and less time here! You need to go—!”

“Why, if it isn’t your Pretty Boy,” came a purr from the doorway.

Felix froze at once, spine straightening in fear. The voice was unfamiliar; nasal and immediately hateable. It set Dimitri on edge, a mocking croon.

Through the same doorway Felix had entered through, a woman stood. She was tall, wearing a burgundy pantsuit that looked lavish and expensive. Her arms were folded, rose-gold hair reaching down to her elbows, and with her stature came  _ power. _ She stood proudly, chin raised and eyes trained on the fighter. Felix bristled, the woman placed one bejewelled hand in her pocket, and bile rose to Dimitri’s throat.

"Seems I was right about him. He's a distraction, isn't he, Sword?"

"No," Felix said, almost urgently. "No, actually. He was just  _ leaving." _

"Was he?" the woman’s nasal voice sang.

"Yes. For good. I promise you won't see him again." Dimitri had never seen Felix so obedient — so frightened beneath a front of thinly-veiled confidence. This could be no-one other than his boss.

In an instant, her voice turned. It became a snap — harsh and domineering. "Oh, but I don't think you can promise me that at all."

She took a step forward, and Felix took one back. "I promise, I—"

"Because I just heard him saying he had an  _ idea. _ An idea to… what was it, Pretty Boy?" And those piercing ice-cold eyes glared up at Dimitri now — glacial; chilling. "An idea to get the Sword  _ out?" _

Dimitri’s lips parted, but Felix was at his side, slipping his hand into Dimitri’s own and squeezing.  _ Don't, _ the gesture seemed to say.

"Out of where, might I ask?" A sickly-sweet smile curled her lips.

Both men were silent. Stepping backwards slowly, Dimitri aimed to reach the door. From there, he and Felix could run; surely they were faster than this woman in her pink high heels — Felix in particular. And Felix was what mattered. If he could escape, reach the streets above and run, Dimitri would be happy. They could do whatever they pleased with him, as long as Felix was safe—

His back hit something soft, and the two men wheeled around frantically to see the bouncer from the entrance. Dimitri was tall — he towered just over six feet — but the brute before him was taller. Broader. More muscular, and had evidently been trained to put his brawn to use. He smiled down at them both, and they found themselves backpedalling once more, back into the centre of the locker room.

The Boss’s voice returned, almost singsong as she taunted. “Surely not out of the Training Grounds. You  _ couldn’t _ have meant that, could you?”

Her words bounced from each wall, echoing tauntingly in Dimitri’s ears. He watched as the taller man closed in on them, turned around to see the Boss in the doorway, and saw more bouncers begin to file past her.

He could not hide the pounding to his head — the way his hand gripped Felix’s as if for dear life. He was scared.

“No, Pretty Boy. We won’t allow that.”

He was scared again, as he had been down the alleyway with Randolph closing in on him. Danger was at his fingertips, looming over him with its predatory presence, and he was frozen.

With muscles seizing, Dimitri mentally begged for Felix to do something. The last time he had been in such a situation, the Meandering Sword had saved him. In one swift movement, the danger had been disposed of, and Dimitri had been swept into the strange, comforting embrace of the Training Grounds’s reigning champion.

Yet Felix remained still. One threat was behind them, and another, two, three, entered through the doorway until all of a sudden the room seemed filled with the stench of fear. Perhaps it was his own hot breath, quickened and escaping through his parted lips as his heart rate rose, but it made his hair stand on end.

The Boss smiled — such a sickening smile filled with malignant promise — and turned from the room. Alone they were left, with the Boss’s cronies closing in on them, baying like a pack of hyenas approaching their kill.

But they weren’t heading for Dimitri, he realised — it was not the blonde man they had set their sights on, who they marched towards with faces of ravenous glee. Dimitri was not the one in danger here.

They were headed for Felix.

_ Sothis, _ how immature had he been? Now he truly realised. Felix was  _ theirs. _ They had no qualms beating the shit out of their fighter because he did it for a living anyway; they’d made him endure so many black eyes before now that he most likely couldn’t even count them all. So what was one more?

No, this was a message to  _ Dimitri. _ To stay the fuck away from their precious Training Grounds and Meandering Sword, or else watch them hurt him. Watch them mess him up. Watch them grind him to a bloody pulp and dismiss it as an occupational hazard. Dimitri wouldn’t want that. But unless he left Felix’s life, that was the punishment he would receive.

Just as he found the courage within him to move, however — to brace his knees to run — he was grappled. The man behind him held his arms behind his back in a grip so tight it cut off his blood-flow, making Felix’s hand slip from his grip.

He did not resist —  _ could _ not resist.

“Felix,” he said, his tone steady but urgent.

And just as Felix turned, eyes widening in fear, he was grabbed too. He wrestled in the grip of the brute, screaming profanities as he tried to pry their hands from around his stomach.

Dimitri’s heart was in his throat.

_ What are they going to do to him? _ His brain began working, panicking, thoughts careening around and sending him into overdrive. He watched as Felix was manhandled, two of the hyenas grabbing a leg each while the third grabbed his arms.  _ Where are they taking him!? _

He was carried from the room as a pig would be upon a spit, dangling by the limbs. Some of the insults leaving his mouth Dimitri had never even heard before, but the bouncer behind him nudged him, prompting him to move after them.

He was unceremoniously pushed through the room after Felix, through the doorway the Boss had been standing in. Even over the stench of sweat and must, Dimitri could smell her lingering perfume, so potently floral it was unpleasant. The corridor was somehow even more dank than the rest of the Training Grounds, the bare lightbulbs flickering in an almost sinister way, causing the walls and closed doors around him to fade from black to brown to a sickly yellow. All dark colours — unwelcoming colours.

When at last they met the exit, they were in the central room. The fighting room, the ring — whatever it was called. The room with the steel cage at the centre, enclosing the brawls that brought customers to this dismal place. It was empty now aside from two more people — two more of the Boss’s muscular henchmen who stood waiting behind the bars, smiles wide and bloodthirsty.

Dimitri was halted, his captor holding him firmly, but Felix was being taken towards them.

_ “No,” _ Dimitri whispered.

_ “Yes,” _ the beast behind him whispered back.

And then he could only watch as the cage’s door was opened, panic twisting into fear inside him, binding his heart and his lungs and his throat.

_ “Get the fuck out, Dimitri!” _ Felix screamed before a heavy hand was clasped over his mouth.

But Dimitri couldn’t leave. And he knew damn well that even if he could, Felix would be beaten bloody. Perhaps even killed. Even if he could leave — could flee this place and reach safety, as he had dreamt of mere moments before — he would never see Felix again. And he could never let that happen.

Felix was dragged, limbs thrashing, into the ring and thrown upon the floor. Before the door was shut behind him, he cried out. Over the sounds of his attackers howling to one another like hounds after a fox, chattering excitedly over the body of their prey, Felix’s strangled cry could be heard.

_ “Dimitri! Go!” _


	16. XIII. i bleed it out

Dimitri hated fighting. He hated it with a passion. His mind flashed back to his childhood, to the one time he had play-fought with his step-sister.

Yes, he had only play-fought with her once, and had never done anything close to fighting since. For he was terrified of doing anything like it again.

Dimitri had not intended to hurt Edelgard. They had merely been ‘wrestling’ in the Blaiddyd manor’s gardens, slapping each other on the arms and charging into one another head-first in attempts to tackle their opponent to the ground.

Edelgard had succeeded. Giggling, she had pushed Dimitri to the ground and pinned him there, laughing in his face about how she had won.

“No you haven’t!” Dimitri had laughed back, grabbing her arms and pushing her away. They had struggled for a while. Edelgard had only been slim at the age of 11, but she was  _ strong. _ Dimitri had tried with all of his might to shove her away, only to have her push him back down again, cheering good-naturedly.

Dimitri’s grip around her forearms had tightened. He’d given a laugh, a childish promise of defeat, and had given one last push to pin her to the ground, when he had heard the snap.

As suddenly as a gunshot, a sickening crunch had met his ears and turned the contents of his stomach to water. Edelgard’s eyes had grown wide, her face paling, and Dimitri had realised that beneath his hand, the bone of her arm had become the consistency of a bag of sand in his grip.

He had not known how that was possible until his father had pulled him aside later that night. Dimitri had been a mess, crying and fretting over his hospitalised sister, and Lambert had had no choice but to make him aware of the power of the Blaiddyd crest. Of the brutish power that could be triggered by desperation, strong enough to crush bone. “A blessing from our ancestors,” his father had said softly with a smile.

It was not even close to a blessing in Dimitri’ eyes. It was a bane.

He had felt freakish. He had hidden his truth from everyone he knew. So, so hard had he tried to repress that memory — of his sister’s bone snapping and crumbling in his fingers. It had not surfaced upon watching Felix fight, nor when watching drunken scrimmages outside bars in the city. It had not even come to him when facing Randolph those strange few weeks ago, when he had been at the very cusp of a fight. He had not thought of it for years, burying it so far back in his mind that it had ceased to exist.

Now, though, as the bouncers descended upon Felix as if in slow motion, Dimitri remembered. His nerves twitched, his muscles ached, and his legs moved without him willing them to.

He had been so terrified of the power his crest held — so  _ resentful _ that it had awakened in his blood instead of lying dormant. Now, though, he was thankful. Now, he wanted nothing more than for it to manifest.

He pulled free of the bouncer’s grasp as easily as if his wrists were oiled, and turned. In one fluid motion, his arm swung out and his fist connected with the taller man’s blubbery face, sending him crashing to the ground. Dimitri’s chest ached — seared as he sucked in breath — but he had only just begun.

Running fast, footsteps sharp and piercing over the dull sounds of beating and yelling taking place within the cage, Dimitri reached it. Its door had not been locked, only shut, and he wrenched it open before throwing himself inside.

He did not go unnoticed. One of Felix’s attackers, a huge woman with rippling muscles, turned her attention to him. The Sword was in safe hands — heavy, powerful fists crashing down on him — and thus she peeled away, prepared to dispose of the threat that was the Pretty Boy.

Thankfully, he had watched Felix enough times to pick up on fighting habits. As a fist came out towards him, Dimitri watched the light glint from a sliver of metal over her knuckles.  _ Fuck!  _ He ducked fast, her arm cut through the air, and Dimitri charged into her. He roared as he did so — the noise coming from somewhere deep within his belly in an awful, animalistic sound — and he forced his shoulder into the woman’s abdomen. She cried out as she was sent hurtling through the air, and Dimitri shoved her down with all his might. Her head hit the ground hard, and she ceased moving.

One had been dealt with, for the moment at least. Dimitri whirled, breathing hard through grit teeth, and watched as the beady eyes of the rest of the pack fell upon him. They had stopped their assault of the Sword, but Dimitri didn’t dare to look at the mess they’d made of him. He was seeing red — as if blood had splattered against his eyes to turn his world crimson — but through it he saw only targets. They weren’t fearsome predators anymore — they were nothing but bugs to be squashed beneath his shoe, rags to be disposed of. His lips parted, and he roared once more.

Head-first, he ran into the first one he saw. The man was not frightened, merely determined as he braced himself for Dimitri’s raised fists. With arms crossed in front of his face, Dimitri chose that that was where he would aim, until at the last second he swung out a leg, hooked the tip of his boot into the man’s crooked knee, and pulled his feet out from under him. It took him unaware; he fell flat on his backside and let out a yelp of pain — presumably from his tailbone hitting the floor.

The next few moments were a blur. The rest of the hyenas had directed their cackling to him, leaving their carrion sprawled upon the floor to come at him. But the Crest of Blaiddyd pulsed within Dimitri’s veins, tightened his muscles, and led him into the fray. He threw punches and received them, but they seemed scarcely more than slaps as his fervoured state spurred him onwards. One of his enemies, slobbering and crazed, was sent crashing into the cage’s bars — another fell face-first to the floor below and lay twitching.

The first assailant — the one wearing knuckle-dusters — was up again then, roaring as she came towards him with her weaponed fist raised. But Dimitri was ready. The two sparred; he winded her with a knee to the stomach, and heard her jaw crack as his elbow connected with it. Agility had never been his strong point, however, and attempting to sidestep out of the reach of her spiked knuckle left him a bloodied mess as she caught him in the eye. It sent him spinning to the floor, clutching at his eye as white-hot pain pulsated deep in the socket. Blood flooded from the wound, making his hands sticky, face wet, and a metallic tang burst across his tongue. His crest began to swell inside him.

He was blind for a moment, surging to his feet as an anger so fierce — so overwhelming — controlled him. He sent the woman into the bars of the cage with ease. Another of the bouncers was on him now, the crazed man, but Dimitri turned and his hands wrapped around his attacker’s throat, squeezing until he gasped for breath and scratched feebly at his arms, before throwing him to the floor. He slumped, fighting for breath.

Dimitri took the slightest moment to do so himself, vision flooding back to his non-butchered eye as he stood back, watching his enemies in various states of consciousness struggle to recuperate. Only then, through his one good eye, did Dimitri notice: Felix was still on the floor. And he wasn’t moving. The scarlet pouring from his head cascaded down over his face — his swollen, unrecognisable face — into a pool on the floor beneath him.

A chill flooded Dimitri, replacing the heat that had seared in his veins in the moments before. He became aware.

Felix Fraldarius was not okay. His body looked twisted where he lay, neck at a painful angle. Dimitri shook; his jaw trembled as the chill inside him became a cold — such a terrifying, icy cold that threatened to ensnare his every nerve.

He did not think. He merely ran again, as hard and fast as his searing legs could take him, to where his man lay. Nobody tried to stop him. Scooping Felix unceremoniously in his arms, the battered fighter had enough awareness to scream out in pain.  _ Fuck. _ Something was broken. Or punctured. Probably both. Probably multiple things. Maybe the pain was in his head — a shard of skull biting into his brain—

_ No! Shut up! _ Dimitri turned to the door of the cage, finding it open, inviting him to escape, and he ran for it. Air whistled past his ears — the hot, damp, sweaty air of this underground deathtrap — and drowned out the dolorous tolls of his footsteps against the stone floor. He rushed through the corridor and up the stairs almost unaware of Felix in his grasp — the man was so light, seemingly weighing no more than a child — until eventually he came to the door.

Grabbing at the handle, Dimitri listened for a split second. Beneath the heartbeat in his ears, all was silent: no manic chattering or shouting behind him, no heavy footfalls. That fact almost, almost relieved him. He pushed through the door; the air of the outside hit his face, dusk just beginning to fall across a pink-tinged sky, and Dimitri tripped upwards and out of the building.

Only then did he realise how much his chest hurt — how breathing felt like sucking in embers. He took only a moment to rest, lungs searing with exhaustion, before he was compelled to move again, out of reach of the starving, wounded hyena pack behind him.

Surprising even himself, he turned not to the street, but further down the alleyway. He fled to the shadows — to the dark and dismal side street he’d watched Felix turn down so many times before — and followed the narrow path. Blood still streamed from his eye, stinging in a blinding pain that forced his eyelid shut, but Dimitri tried to push it from his mind. Tripping over refuse bags, kicking empty bottles to send them clattering down the cobblestones, he followed the dingy side street until he emerged on the other side — in an alleyway identical to the first.

By then, the pain in his eye was unignorable. He staggered to a dumpster and ducked behind it, in the cover of shadow and hopefully far enough away from the Training Grounds to buy him time. He sat, damp and cold seeping through his pants immediately to chill the skin beneath, and laid Felix gently in his lap. The man was a dead weight. Yet as he leant into the fighter’s face, ear directed to his nose to try to hear breathing, he felt hot breath tickle his skin. Still alive. A good sign. Unconscious, but alive.

He attempted to tend to his eye. Pawing at it made him grit his teeth, sucking in a breath as painful white light shot through it. And by now, the panic had begun to settle in; adrenaline was wearing off, his crest retreating, leaving him to feel the weight of his injuries. Aches in his bones and muscles, the familiar sting of scratches and grazes, a dull pulse in his ribs that he supposed signified bruising. Yet even all of those pains combined could not compare to his eye.

And, he supposed, as he looked down into his lap, it was nothing compared to what Felix was feeling. The man lay limp, face swollen past the point of recognition, blood seeping through his grey vest shirt in countless places; scarlet pouring from his nose, face, the visible cuts gouged into the swelling—

_ Sothis. _ Fear surged throughout him, making his eye throb more. He adjusted his arms beneath Felix, hearing an agonised groan leave the man’s butchered lips, and made to stand up — preparing to run for help — before a hoarse word left Felix’s throat.

“D-Dima…”

Something about that one word tugged at Dimitri’s heartstrings.  _ Dima. _ A nickname that only his childhood friends had for him. Why was it leaving Felix’s lips? He leant in closer. “Yeah?”

“I’m… fine.” He coughed — choked — and spat out blood.

“No you’re not.”

“I swear to Sothis… if I wake up in a hospital…” And he coughed again, blood mingling with mucus which he spat out in a glob. “... you’re dead.”

_ Hospital. _ Of course — that was where they needed to go. Dimitri’s eye was fucked, and Felix… For him, there was no other choice. Beaten to a pulp, almost definitely concussed, and bleeding from both external  _ and _ internal wounds, Dimitri doubted that he would see tomorrow without medical attention.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He scooped Felix back into his arms and fled once more.


	17. put me out of my fucking misery

Felix’s vision, nothing but a sea of black, grew lighter gradually. A soft, gentle white glow swam into view, burning his retinas as they struggled to adjust. He had seen nothing but black for so long — for seemingly an age — but now the light came to him.

He felt comforted. He felt happy, as if a shackle around his chest had been shattered, allowing him to breathe at last. Did this mean he was free? Free from the bonds that embraced his heart and chilled him to the bone? Could he finally learn what it meant to be free — to be himself?

He laughed, hearing the choppy, hoarse sound come back to him in an echo. What a pathetic notion. He would never be free — especially not now. Something had happened. Something _bad._ It felt good, but he knew that feeling wouldn’t last. It never did.

Something drifted into Felix’s vision: a blurred blotch of colour that sharpened slowly, forming painstakingly into a face. A pointy face, but kind. A pale face, but warm. A mess of tangled blonde hair, and a startling, brilliant blue eye. Like the sky itself, or of the sea he’d seen once in his childhood. Like a precious sapphire, bright and beautiful.

Where was the other? There were meant to be two. He’d seen them before — knew them well.

Dimitri. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. The man he’d known for his whole life, but at the same time for only a few mere weeks. The light of his life, his new reason for being — the stupid, bumbling, oafish _boar_ who had somehow ensnared him within his fumbling grasp.

In that moment, Felix knew he hated him. He knew he was angry with him for something — for doing something dangerous, and stupid, and directly disobeying his orders. He knew he would have to make the man pay.

But _Sothis,_ how he loved him.

A smile beamed down at him, and Dimitri spoke some elated words that sounded a thousand miles away. A response rose in Felix’s throat, itching as wildly as a cough until it tumbled from his lips in a rattle.

“You…”

Dimitri’s one visible eye widened, the other hidden beneath a white bandage. He leant closer.

_“... You fucking boar.”_

His man broke into a smile.


	18. XIV. i used to be my own protection, but not now

The longest night of his life was finally over. After being released from his own recovery with the news that his eye would be blind for life, Dimitri had dashed through the hospital to find Felix as fast as his bruised rib would allow.

The evening's events were a blur. At some point, the police had been called; perhaps he’d been the one to do it — he couldn’t remember. Dimitri had spoken to officers, had been asked about the Training Grounds, had spoken to doctors, had been anesthetised, and had his eye operated on. None of those things mattered. He didn't know what day it was — whether it was morning or night — he just knew he'd had to find Felix.

And once he had, taking in the broken crumpled mess lying in the hospital bed, he had refused to leave his side. Felix’s hands were properly bandaged now — supported around the knuckles and fingers to mend the shattered bones beneath — but Dimitri held onto one of them, stroking it delicately with his thumb as he watched the man’s eyelids flutter.

Felix’s slumber was restless; sometimes his swollen brow would furrow and an injured groan would escape, but the pain meds being pumped into his arm kept him under.

After hours, after he had finally prised his dark eyelashes open and muttered a cutting insult, Dimitri had cried. He had sobbed, sniffling, until Felix had tried to move, crying out in pain.

"What's up with me?" he asked, voice laboured.

Dimitri composed himself, fighting through his medicated, sleep-deprived state to recall all he could from what the doctors had reeled off to him. Felix had suffered a ruptured spleen, two broken ribs, one of which had torn a lung, fractured knuckles and fingers, a dislocated jaw, a broken nose—

“Fuck. I get it, I’m dying,” Felix cut him off.

He smiled. “No, but you gave it your best shot.”

Silence fell. Through his eyelids which could barely open, Felix looked up at the white ceiling of his private hospital ward. “Oh, yeah.  _ That’s _ what I’m pissed about,” he rasped.

Dimitri’s heart could not even sink; at this point, being pissed-off was Felix’s natural state. He scarcely felt fear at what the man’s wrath could entail anymore — not after the horrors they’d endured together. “What’s that?”

“You fucked everything up at the Training Grounds.”

Dimitri shrugged. “That place could burn to the ground and I wouldn’t care.” He had no idea what was happening with it after the police interference, but he would protect Felix with his life, no matter what. His fear of the Boss and of the bouncers had receded to be replaced with a stone-cold rage. “I think the place is going to be shut down, or something. We’ll need to issue police statements at some point when you’re better, since a couple of officers visited—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Felix hissed. “I’m not telling them anything. I swear to Sothis if I wasn’t half-dead I’d get the fuck out of here—”

“Don’t stress yourself.” Reaching out an arm, Dimitri stroked a lock of Felix’s loose hair. It calmed him, made him sink further into his pillows. “No more fighting.”

Those words seemed to hold more weight than Dimitri had intended. The fire flickered out of the Meandering Sword: he nodded slowly, eyes sombre. “No more fighting.”

“Right.” He stroked Felix’s hair for a moment more, content. Content that maybe now the man could be safe — that he was free from that place, from that situation. After what felt like an hour of quiet contemplation, Dimitri shifted to stand. “Let me go and get your nurses. They told me to let them know if you woke up.”

Felix’s arm shot out, and a hiss of pain accompanied it. “Wait, Dimitri,” he said, voice hoarse.

And Dimitri sat back down. He leaned forward, resting his hands gently upon the bed. “Yeah? You okay?”

A crackling noise of affirmation left Felix’s throat and he turned his head slowly to face him. Despite his injuries — despite his face looking like tenderised meat — the golden irises shone out. Something behind them looked pure. Good. Almost loving. “You guys all asked me about Glenn.”

So much had happened in the last day or so that Dimitri fought to remember anything that had happened before then.  _ Glenn. Fraldarius. _ The boy who’d been friends of Dimitri, Sylvain, and Ingrid in their youth. The popular, dashing young man who had dated Ingrid for a few years before moving on to fight alongside the people of Duscur against its corrupt government.

“Yes, he’s our childhood friend.”

“He’s my brother.”

Dimitri stared, but Felix’s eyes never wavered, instead burning deep into Dimitri’s with a fierce sincerity.

It didn’t add up. “But Glenn never had a brother. He only had a younger sist—”  _ Oh. Of course. _

“The sister you thought Glenn had was never truly a sister,” Felix said in a gruff voice. “I’ve always been a brother, really.”

Had Felix really been the sour-faced sibling Dimitri had seen fleeting glimpses of all those years ago? He remembered Rodrigue’s other child — shy and irritable — who would much rather hide behind Mr. Fraldarius than join the kids in their games.

“Why didn’t you ever say hi?” Dimitri asked. “You’re the same age as Ingrid and I, and we always asked you to play—!”

“I’m not the most sociable, if you haven’t guessed.”

Even when beaten bloody, lying half-dead in a hospital bed, he never failed to make Dimitri chuckle.

“Being forced into being someone you’re not is a great way to crush a kid’s confidence. A lifetime of being misgendered is enough to make any kid revert back into their shell.”

Dimitri’s eyes had grown hot. The image of Felix before him — swollen eyes filled with passion, spilling out such a deep, emotional confession — was overwhelming. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice choked. “I can’t even imagine—”

“Don’t apologise,” Felix told him. “You’ve been so accepting of me. I never knew it was possible.”

“Were they not? Your family, I mean. Did they disown you, or…?” Dimitri trailed off, trying to blink back the tears that were obscuring his vision.

Felix looked away, gazing out at the rest of the room with something almost wistful embracing his face. “I was too worried they wouldn’t accept me for who I was. So instead of coming out, I ran away.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened. “You ran away? When? Why—?”

“As soon as I could, when I turned eighteen. How was I to know how they’d react?” He sighed. “Even as a kid, though — as far back as I can remember — when I’d ask to get a haircut, they’d say no. When I asked to wear boy’s clothes, they’d say no. They’d call me unladylike, and tomboyish, and… I couldn’t take it anymore, Dima. I wrote them a note saying I’d gotten my own place and not to try and contact me and… I never heard anything since.”

Dimitri’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Felix swallowed and continued. “I never liked them anyway. Even if I wasn’t trans I’d probably have left as soon as I could’ve. They were rich assholes. Just like your family.”

_ So that’s why he hates the rich. _ Dimitri’s mind was reeling. “To think I’d known you all this time…” he muttered. “I thought you seemed familiar—”

“You didn’t know me.” And when Felix turned his head back, he fixed Dimitri with a piercing, determined stare. “I’m different now. I’m not the kid I was.”

He nodded. “Of course.” His hand reached out again, coming up to play with Felix’s silky smooth tresses once more. “How come you never did cut your hair then, if you said you wanted to as a kid?”

And a smile worked its way onto those bruised, cut-up lips. “I tried cutting it short as soon as I moved out. But I just looked like a jackass.”

“When don’t you?” Dimitri grinned. And were it not for the fact he was so incapacitated, he knew Felix would have swiped at him. “Where have you lived since, then?”

A pout in response. “What?”

“Since leaving when you were eighteen. Where did you move to?”

And his face softened, gaining that wounded, vulnerable look Dimitri had grown to love. “Y’know. Just… here and there.”

“No, I don’t know.” Dimitri’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Felix looked away. His lips were tight, looking painful from the splits in them, but his expression could only mean one thing; he was embarrassed.

With that, Dimitri put two and two together. “Oh, Felix, no,” he breathed, taking one of the man’s hands in a delicate grip. Felix winced nonetheless. “You didn’t have anywhere to stay?”

“Some places,” he responded — defensive, if not exhausted. “I could never save up enough to get a place of my own. But Leonie let me stay with her sometimes. And there were shelters, too—”

The thought was too much for Dimitri to bear; a fate nobody deserved. “You can stay with me and Sylvain,” he told him, determination in his voice.

“Ugh,  _ that _ prick?”

Dimitri couldn’t resist chuckling. “Please? I know he’s a lot to handle, but surely it’s better than—”

“I’m kidding. I’d... love to stay with you.”

“You would?” Dimitri asked, heart singing.

“I would.”

They smiled at one another, holding hands. Another silence passed, filled only by the soft beeping of the machines Felix was hooked up to.

"Dimitri?"

"Yeah?"

And Felix beheld him a moment, golden eyes swimming with adoration. "I love you."

Those few words made Dimitri’s heart shatter. As if it were made out of glass, it was reduced to dust to blow away on a warm, Garland Moon breeze. Those were the words he’d wanted so badly to hear. Those were the words he’d wanted to say time and time again, too afraid of judgment to utter them himself. He sniffed, and yet more tears rose in his eyes to fall down his cheeks.

He leant his forehead against his man’s own — feeling the hot, feverish skin beneath.

“I love you too, Felix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you made it to the end of this story! I really appreciate everybody who has taken the time to leave a kudos or comment, and you've made my first Big Bang experience truly incredible. Thanks once again to my incredible artists and everyone who's left encouragement along the way.
> 
> (Oh and if anyone gets the reference of all the chapter titles, solidarity. Respect.)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed "the sacrifice of hiding in a lie"! ^_^


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